#in which dean keeps the mark of cain

[daddysboydean]

dean is super possessive of sam, but it’s like this: dean doesn’t care if sam fucks women sometimes. dean does too. sometimes you just want a taste, you know? but what dean will not allow is sam to fuck another dude. girls are one thing, it’s not cheating if sam is banging someone working with different material than dean. but guys? guys hit too close to home. sam can only have one cock, and that’s deans. cas, though…

s: what about cas?

d: what about cas?

s: we fuck him!

d: cas doesn’t count! obviously! 

s: why not? he’s a guy. he’s got a dick that isn’t yours.

d: he’s family, sam!

s: do you even hear yourself? 

d: c’mon, dude. you know what i meant.

s: yeah, i do, and it’s incredibly fucked up. 

d: yeah, well, fucked up ain’t anything new for us, is it? 

[fallenangelblade]

ohhhh. last half of season 10 makes me want to throttle someone

[glorystark]

Empty eyes | Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean doesn't take Charlie's death too well and because of the Mark of Cain affecting him, he tells you things that will regret.

Warnings: moc!Dean Winchester, Dean being a dick, minor mentions of injury, swearing, ANGST, major character's death

Pairing: Dean Winchester × reader

Featuring: Sam Winchester

Word count: 2,3k

We watched in agony as Charlie's body, wrapped around a white sheet, burned in the flames. This should never have happened to her kind soul. She died so we could save Dean. I couldn't help but feel guilty; my heart ached because I lost a friend, again. I knew Sam felt the same. We both asked Charlie for help with the Book of the Damned, and we both lied to Dean about the book being destroyed. Now it was too late to make things right. Memories flashed through my eyes, making me tear up. I remembered when she helped us with the Dick situation, or when I taught her some hunter-kind-of-tricks. How happy she was and wouldn't stop thanking me. She didn't deserve this, anyone but her.

“Charlie,” Sam started, grabbing my and probably Dean's attention. “We are gonna miss you. You're the best.” He stopped when his voice cracked, and now I was sure he felt far worse than me because looking back, he suggested not telling Dean about the Book of the Damned not being destroyed, which I didn't agree with at first. But seeing Dean, my Dean, slowly fade away right in front of my eyes changed my opinion. Maybe it was selfish, me and Sam both were. But we couldn't let Dean become something he fears, a Monster. We couldn't lose another person, another family member, but we didn't realize who we were putting in danger on this path.

“We love you, Charlie, and I'm so sorry,” I said, blinking through tears.

“Shut up,” Dean said coldly, making Sam and me look at him. “You got her killed. You don't get to apologize.” He continued.

“Dean-“ Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“You too, you two are the reason she is dead,” he said, not taking his eyes off the flames.

“We were trying to help you,” I said, still looking at him.

“I didn't need help,” he said bitterly. "I told you to leave it alone.”

“What were we supposed to do, just watch you die?” Sam asked, not letting me be the only one receiving the cold tone from his older brother.

“The mark isn't gonna kill me.”

“Maybe not, but when it's done with you, you won't be you anymore,” I stated. “Dean, you're all we got. So of course we were gonna fight for you because that's what we do,” I said softly.

“Yeah, she's right, we had a shot-“ Sam was cut off again by Dean.

“Yeah, you had a shot. Charlie is dead.” He finally turned his head to look at me and his brother, who was standing next to me. His dark emerald eyes bore into mine, and I couldn't recognize them. Never have I ever seen him look at me with those eyes. Because no matter how much crap we went through, he always made sure I was fine, and his eyes held nothing but sweetness and, on most occasions, worry. “Nice shot.”

“Are you even listening to me? You think I'm ever gonna forgive myself for that?!” I snapped, not being able to keep my voice down anymore. He is grieving, but so am I. If I could, I would trade places with her.

“You know what I think,” he started, still with the same voice tone. “I think it should be you up there and not her.”

I felt my heart break for the hundredth time today. I parted my lips, not taking my teary eyes off him, which clearly showed how hurt I was. Sam let out a small gasp and widened his eyes after he heard Dean's words, clearly not expecting his brother to go that far.

I knew he blamed me, probably even more than Sam. But knowing that he wanted me dead hurt more than any physical torture I've experienced.

Sam called his name, still shocked after what he heard, but his brother just walked away, breaking my heart more and more.

—————

It has been a week since I lost Charlie, since I lost my Dean. He has been searching for the Stynes ever since but has been having a bit of trouble finding their location. So meanwhile, he went on a few solo hunts. He hasn't said a word to me and to Sam, just a few like ‘buy some beers’ ‘did you find anything about the Stynes’.

He found another hunt for today and was packing his bag in his own room. We both haven't stepped in our shared room ever since the accident, which meant we weren't even sleeping on the same bed. I'm done with being ignored, so I knocked on his door and opened it without waiting for any response. He didn't even turn around, probably knowing it was me.

“Dean,” I called his name, not even knowing what I wanna talk about, but getting him to look at me was the first step. “Dean,” I called, this time louder, and when he still didn't turn around, I walked towards him and grabbed his arm. “Alright, I'm done. When will you finally stop ignoring me?!”

He looked at my hand, which was grabbing his arm, and slowly turned around, finally looking at my face. “I'm not ignoring you, I just don't want to talk to you or be near you,” he said bitterly, pulling his arm away and reaching for his door.

“Dean, you know you're not the only one who lost someone, okay? And believe me, I know it's my fault she's gone, and I'll never forgive myself for that. But, god, you're practically killing me. I miss you,” I said desperately, waiting for something in his eyes to change, waiting for him to embrace me in his strong arms, but... Nothing. His eyes didn't even hold hatred anymore, just emptiness.

“I don't know what you expect me to say, ‘I'm sorry you were so stupid’ ‘I'm sorry you got another person killed off’ ‘I'm sorry you're so fucking useless’ Huh?! Is that what you want me to say? You want me to feel sorry for you?!” he yelled, showing the anger and darkness in his eyes while he harshly slammed me to the wall, making me whimper slightly. His words cut deep into my skin, but I tried my best to ignore them, knowing this Dean wasn't really my Dean.

“I want you to understand, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I want you to tell me that we're gonna go through this like we always do,” I said softly, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to crack him.

He let out a dark chuckle and grasped my shoulders, lowering his head to be on the same height level with me. “You want me to tell you that we're gonna go through this? Well, baby, in that way, I'd be a big liar.”

“Dean, me and Sam, we are so close to saving you. Please, just don't let the mark control you,” I begged, feeling small under his touch.

“I don't want nor need you two saving me, and believe me, at this very moment, I'm trying to not let the mark control me, so don't provoke me,” he whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"I thought you trusted me.”

“Well, that trust was destroyed when you got someone who was like a sister to me killed. Have you ever noticed how many innocent people died because you were being too stupid?” he said harshly.

"We all have made mistakes, Dean," I said, as I thought about the hunts where innocent people died, and I couldn't save them. I didn't want Dean to know how much his words were affecting me, but, god, I felt like a crumpled paper.

“Seems like that's the only thing you ever do,” he smirked, letting his eyes fall on the floor again before looking up at my eyes again. “Tell me, how does it feel knowing you don't mean anything to anybody and you're just a burden in our lives? How does it feel knowing nobody loves you?”

That's it. That was the punch line to make me break into tears.

“Y-you love me, you said that before.”

“You know I lie to get laid,” he said, smirking, proud of his response.

My heart was racing more and more, and I felt nauseous.

“Dean, please-“

“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!” he grabbed my cheeks harshly. “Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.” he said, spitting the words out before letting me go. He took his bag and walked out of the room, not even glancing at me. I slid down the wall as I started sobbing silently.

Then I heard a buzz from my phone.

New message from Sammy:

“Y/N, Dean just said he found a hunt, probably three to four werewolves, and he told me to go with him. I was really surprised but didn't question him. I think he's getting better. I'll also talk to him on the road. Next time, he'll definitely ask you too, just like old times. Don't stay up and don't worry; we got this :) love you.”

He asked Sam to go, but not me. If he hadn't told me that he hated me a few minutes ago, I'd think he was worried. But if it was really 3 or 4 werewolves, there's nothing to be worried about. He just wants to stay away from me. He told me I was a burden to them; he'll probably throw me out of the bunker soon.

Dark thoughts ran through my mind, and suddenly a rush of anxiety ran through me. What if there were more than a few werewolves? What if they get hurt? What if Dean hates me even more?

I checked Sam's message again and saw that he sent me the address of where the werewolves' location is and where the hunt would probably take place. I quickly rushed to my room, grabbed my car keys, and went to drive to the location.

—————

I was hiding behind some of the trees in the forest, watching as each of the boys fought one werewolf, two already dead ones on the floor.

Everything seemed good so far; I mean, their guns were on the floor, but they were fighting each werewolf single handed and there was no need for me to make my presence known. The boys were winning as always. And that's when I realized they don't really need me in their life. I knew the words that came out of Dean's mouth tonight weren't really Dean's, my Dean. But he was somehow right; before I became the hunter I am today, I made many mistakes. Some were small, and some led to people getting hurt or even killed. I also put their lives in danger multiple times because I was being reckless. Finding the demons that killed my parents blinded my vision. I was ready to get back to the bunker when I saw both of the werewolves giving up until I noticed something.

A werewolf close to Sam's back, and it seemed like none of the brothers noticed him. I searched for my gun but remembered I forgot it in the backseat of my car. I cursed under my breath and did the only thing possible right now to save Sam. I couldn't let Dean lose another person, especially his brother, who I knew meant the world to him. I couldn't put him through something like that again when there's a chance to save the younger Winchester.

So I ran towards Sam, trying my best to not slip because of the woods on the floor. The Werewolf was close, and nobody noticed him. I'm not the only stupid one after all. The boys turned their heads to me for a slight second, surprised at my presence, but didn't stop fighting the other werewolves.

Until I pushed Sam away from the werewolf he was fighting onto the floor. He seemed confused at first, until he saw it. I assumed Dean did too but couldn't be too sure since he was behind me. I let out an agonizing scream when the werewolf grazed his claws into my stomach and the other one, which Sam was fighting before, grazed his claws into my back before my lifeless body fell on the floor. Dean didn't hesitate more seconds before getting his gun from the floor and shooting all the werewolves.

I was bleeding like a waterfall from my body and my mouth. But the good thing is-

I didn't feel any pain, or anything in that matter…

Dean Winchester’s Pov:

No no no.

This can't be happening.

It's all a nightmare, just another stupid nightmare.

I heard Sam's crying voice telling the love of my life, his best friend, to wake up, holding her torn apart body in his arms, asking her why she pushed him away. But there was no answer.

It's a nightmare happening in real life.

Her beautiful y/e/c are open but so empty, unrecognizable.

I stood over her body, not being able to move from my spot.

There is so much blood everywhere.

Her blood.

This is hell.

No, I’ve been to hell and it's worse than hell.

I started tearing up more and more, reality hitting me more every second.

I let out an angry scream and fell on my knees when I remembered my last words to her.

“You're nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! Your existence doesn't matter. You.don't.matter.”

She wasn't nothing, she was my everything.

She mattered, she was the reason I kept going, now she's gone and it's all my fault.

All my fault.

All of the words I said came back to me, making my chest hurt.

As I knelt beside her lifeless body, surrounded by the aftermath of our shattered world, I whisper into the silent abyss, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

And deep down I felt the Mark laughing…

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Sick and Full of Pride

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You, Dean, and a sleeping Sam drive back to the bunker. Usual Warnings, plus light smut.

Author's Note: Dean driving does Things to me have a whole chapter with it.

Title from Drive by Halsey

Word Count: 5k

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

You’ve been in the car for almost eleven hours. The drive home was supposed to be eight, Dean is by no means going slow, and—as he’s told you many, many times—he doesn’t get lost, so you’re starting to suspect that you won’t be home any time soon.

As such, you’re now trying to find a reason to very casually and inconspicuously bring up that, if you’re looking at another three hours in the Impala, you’d appreciate it if you and Dean could make the team effort to kick Sam into the back so you can move to shotgun. You rarely get the opportunity—it arises exclusively when Sam wants to sprawl across the larger bench, you made Dean pie to get on his good side, or Dean and Sam are fighting, so Sam loses shotgun privileges—so you plan to take full advantage of this one.

Dean beats you to it. He’s been drumming on the wheel for about an hour in a beat you can’t find any real pattern to, he keeps shifting in his seat, and when he meets your eyes in the rearview mirror, there’s something that’s not quite stress—but close to it—on his face.

“Do you, uh, you wanna come up here?”

You blink, leaning forward between the seats to whisper in his ear. Don’t want to wake up Sam, and, really, any excuse to whisper with Dean is one you’ll take. “Yeah, but,” you glance at the sleeping lump of Sam. “What about Goliath?”

Dean shrugs. “He can sleep in the back. He’s lanky,” Dean says your name, shooting you a small grin, and you almost fall forward. “And I want you up here.”

“Oh.” You flush, but force yourself not to read into it. Sam’s asleep. Asleep people are worse company than awake people. “Okay.”

“You’ll talk to me, right? Up here?”

He sounds a little nervous, and your words fall out in a rush of reassurance. “Of course I’ll talk to you. I lo-” You catch yourself, and focus your attention on a dial on the dashboard as you continue. “I like talking to you. I’ll always talk to you.”

“So yeah?” Dean’s voice is casual, but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s staring at the road—which he probably should’ve been doing the whole time—and his grip has become white-knuckled and tight on the wheel. “You’ll come up here?”

“If you can get Sam out, sure-“

Dean pulls off the side of the road, pushing his door open, and stomping around the hood of Baby. You’re a little dumbstruck, not entirely sure what’s happening, and a small rap of Dean’s knuckles on the window pull you back to your senses.

You push your door open, frowning up at him. “What-“

“Let’s go.” Dean’s hand moves to your arm, but he flinches back almost immediately, like you’ve burned him. Even in just the streetlights, you could swear he’s blushing. “C’mon, Sweetheart, need some backup.”

Once you’re out of the car, rubbing your arms and watching Dean and Sam exchange low words—Dean’s sounding urgent and Sam’s just sounding a little irritated—you try to look up and down the street for some clue of where you are. It’s mostly bushes, yellowing grass, and telephone poles—so literally anywhere in the Midwest—and this old dirt road isn’t really that different from any other dirt road, but it still feels familiar. Like you’ve been on it before. And the track marks on the upcoming path look suspiciously similar to the track marks behind Baby-

Sam stands up and shuffles to the backseat with a few grumbling sounds, and Dean holds the door open for you.

“M’lady.” He makes a wide, sweeping gesture to the seat, and you give him an amused, dry look as you walk up to his side, trying not to get high on how incredibly real his boyish, proud smile looks.

“You’re very cheesy sometimes, you know.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t seem bothered, and his eyes never leave yours as you climb into the seat. “Part of my charm.”

There isn’t a good answer for you to offer him that isn’t God, it really is, so you just make a half-hearted shrug and sink into yourself, letting Dean close the door and return to the wheel.

The first few minutes are silent, and the longer you look at the passing fields, the more you feel like you’ve seen them before.

“Hey, Dean?”

He hums, and you turn your head to see his gaze flicking between you and the road.

“Do you know how much longer we have left? Before we’re home?”

“Few hours.” He shrugs, and it’s a loose movement, which is a good sign. “Traffic’s a bitch.”

You glance out the windshield to the completely empty, dark street. “Traffic.”

“Yep.”

It’s not worth pushing him on. You’re fine here—you’re fine anywhere if you’re next to Dean—and Sam looks a little more comfortable, so if the drive ends up going until morning, you won’t care that much. You might become a little more worried about Dean, but you’ve gotten used to being worried about Dean. You’d rather the worry be about he might be losing his sense of direction, or developing short-term memory loss, because we’ve definitely taken this right before instead of he’s shattering glass and doesn’t seem to do anything but look sad and it’s going to make you cry.

“So, um,” you keep your eyes on the dial from before, because looking at Dean while you talk to him is never a good idea. “You’re still feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling great. Whatever hocus pocus shit Rowena did worked wonders, Sweetheart, I’m feeling amazing.”

You smile, and something that’s been tight around your heart for months loosens. “That’s really good, Dean. I know you didn’t want to try this, but-“

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” You see another loose shrug in your periphery, and your smile grows. “I gotta listen to you and Sam more, sometimes your ideas can actually be good.”

That makes you look up at him—primarily to glare—and it’s immediately a mistake. The shadows and ripples from the streetlight, cutting over his lips and jaw and cheekbones in the night, are making him look somehow more attractive, and you think it’s because of the joy. Dean’s grinning between you and the road, and there are no burdens pushing his shoulders down or weighted over his handsome features, and his whole face looks happy.

“Um,” you swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from Dean. “What’s the betterlust feel like? What does it want?”

Dean pauses, and he clears his throat in a deep, rough sound that is incredibly unproductive for actually focusing on his words.

“Feels like the bloodlust, I guess. I don’t, uh, it’s like a hunger.” Dean runs one hand carefully over the wheel, glancing at you with darkened eyes you can’t read, but want to watch you forever. “But for really specific things. And if it doesn’t get those things, I get…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “I feel like shit.”

“Like a craving?”

“Exactly like a craving.” Dean shoots you a grin that’s all pleased teeth, and you couldn’t look away from him if you tried. “Kinda like when we’re on a stakeout and suddenly you want a burrito, and if we don’t get you a burrito you start to get all mean and whiny.”

“I do not get mean or whiny-“

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “You get very mean and whiny. I ain’t gonna forget when you threatened to castrate Sam because he brought you a salad.”

“And I won’t forget that you backed me up, Winchester. You offered to get my knife.”

“Because you were being mean and whiny, and I’m not looking to ever get castrated.” He gives a fake, overdramatic shutter. “The loss of Dean Jr. would hit many people very hard.”

You flush, whacking his arm. “Asshole, I was not going to castrate you-“

“You would.” He shoots you a wink. “But don’t worry about it. I appeased the monster, and everything’s intact and functional down there.”

It takes effort to roll your eyes, because you know he’s not even taunting you on purpose. Dean has no way to know that you’d never castrate him—you probably weren’t going to castrate Sam either, the point was more to put the fear of God in him for thinking salad was an acceptable alternative to burrito—because the monster he was teasing you about lived in your abdomen and only roared for him. It reared it’s head at the deep, rolling sound of Dean’s voice, grew warm and sensitive at every brush of a big, rough hand on your skin, and was fed by any sliver or scrap of attention he threw you. The only way to truly appease the monster was to let it out of where you’d trapped and desperately ignored it, and the only way to let it out was for Dean to look at you, and not stop.

But you’d learned to deal with that. As long as the monster was tended to, kept in line and from falling out of your mouth with a shout of Dean! I love you! Please look at me, because I really, really love you! You’d be fine.

“Fine.” You sigh. “I’ll give you mean, but I have never been whiny in my life-“

He gives you a flat look of amusement. “You’re a little whiny right now, Sweetheart.”

There’s no way for you to win this argument, Dean’s backed you into a corner you’re more than happy to be in—it means he’s smirking at you, unbelievably pleased with himself, and he’s drumming on the wheel again—so you just roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

“Uh huh.”

You flip him off, he lets out a loud laugh, causing Sam to stir in the back seat.

“Dean,” you hiss, your hand shooting up to cover his mouth. “Quiet-“

He scoffs, pulling your hand down. “Sam’ll be fine, he’s slept through more than me laughing. Don’t know where the hell his hunter instincts go when he knocks out, but nothing short of a hurricane is gonna wake him up now.”

“I know that, I’m just,” you glance at your hand, back in your laps as still buzzing where your palm had covered Dean’s lips. “He’s been really tired.”

Dean’s grin drops slightly, eyes flicking between you and the road. “What about you.”

“What about me?”

“Are you tired?”

You pause, trying to get a read on your own body. Your eyelids do feel heavy, and your body does have that strained feeling of exhaustion between your muscles and bones, but you’ve been more tired. And moments like this—just you and Dean, talking without any worries or sadness or pain—are so rare, you don’t want to miss any of it.

“I guess. But-“

“Get some sleep,” Dean says your name in a stern voice, his attention fixed back onto the road. “We’ll be home soon.”

You blink at him, and realize he’s taking the first left turn in almost three hours. “I’m fine, Dean-“

“You and Sam have been working overtime for me,” he grunts, shooting you a firm look that’s not angry, but firm. “You both deserve some rest. I’ll get you up when we’re back.”

You’re going to argue—to push back and try to explain that you can sleep later, you’re not really that tired and you’d choose talking to Dean over almost anything—but he turns up the music and that’s it. You’re not moving him on this, and if he thinks you need rest, he won’t talk to you until he deems you’ve rested.

It’s insufferable, and annoying, and so fucking impossible to fight with how he won’t stop looking at you with concern, until you sigh, curl into your seat, and pretend to close your eyes.

You’ve gotten good at faking sleep around Dean. At keeping your eyes just open enough to watch him like, admittedly, a creep, and savoring the moments where he’s just himself. He’s not trying to perform the big hero and protector and fighter role for you and Sam that he’s so good at—despite what he seems to think—because you and Sam are both, allegedly, asleep.

Well, Sam’s definitely asleep. But you’re drifting, toeing the careful line between the hazy fantasies that run through your head on loop and the reality of Dean, right next to you and so damn pretty.

He’s always so pretty, and right now he’s alive. He’s purely Dean—entirely himself, which is and always has been more than enough—and it makes his every movement electric. Every dart of his tongue over his lips—pink and full and probably soft and well fit on your own—makes you salivate, and that makes you wish he’d run a broad, thick finger over your mouth, wiping away the slight drool.

He’s drumming on the wheel again, and it turns into some sort of rhythmic lullaby, moving you higher and higher until everything is Dean.

It’s his strong, firm arms wrapping around you and flexing as he moves the wheel, and pinning your hands above your head with big, calloused hands you could swear keep brushing over your cheeks. It’s those lips that drive you insane pressing small, soft kisses all over your body before moving to your lips and turning desperate and rough. Dean’s tongue down your throat and his nose suddenly bumping against your clit.

He’s moved, down, down, down your body—you can feel marks that never really formed but are still sensitive and blissful from Dean’s presence—and suddenly you’re so needy you might die from it. You can still see Dean—the actual Dean, his eyes locked on the road in reality but focusing only on you in your head—and you can’t focus on anything else. His hands gripping the wheel are suddenly holding and kneading at your hips, but still deep inside you, pumping in and out in the same rhythm of the song.

It’s mostly fantasy now. You can smell the leather and whiskey and amber of Dean, your Dean—not your Dean, not your anything unless it’s here, in your half-dreams—and hear his humming, feel the heat radiating off his body. And it’s all feeding into each other, and now you’ll never come down. It will just keep being Dean’s hands on you—tossing you around like a ragdoll but touching your skin in a way that’s painfully careful—and body caging yours in. His full lips sucking and nipping at your neck and breasts and inner thighs, his tongue flicking at your nipples and clit and running over your teeth. Dean hold you down, up, under him or above him or against him, touching you however he wants because God, you’re not needy and desperate by any means but it would feel so good for him to use you. To be the cause of his post-sex swagger walk—as you and Sam have deemed it—or receive one of those cocky winks over breakfast. To hear him praise you, or praise him, or do anything he asks because he always does most anything for you.

Except this. This one thing—playing with you until you’re screaming his name and seeing stars—is the only thing Dean hasn’t done for you. Won’t do for you. You’ll never ask of it, you won’t be able to handle it when he says no aloud in a deep, gruff apology, and so you’ll just live here. In fantasy, where Dean’s attention is fixed on you and never strays. Because in this fake world, it’s only you and Dean, and you could like that forever.

And, right before sleep pulls you under, you could swear that Dean’s eyes on your are deep and blown-out with hunger, and realer than anything else in the world.

——————

Dean was starting to get the hang of this. It was surprisingly easy to do most of what the betterlust demanded, because they were things Dean already did all the damn time. Driving was an obvious one that he’d latched onto almost immediately—something in Dean’s brain had always felt a little easier to live with when he drove, and his hands never felt dirty when he was holding Baby’s wheel—and was easy to feed. Dean had to drive, because that’s how they got around. She and Sam knew him well enough to not try and ask and drive themselves, and it was part of Dean’s job to drive them between cases and the bunker, so satisfying the betterlust had pretty much been handed to him as a quick, easy fix.

But the trick seemed to be not feeding it too much. Taking just enough to satiate the betterlust into something that didn’t make him feel sick and hot, but keeping it from going overboard, because it was really fucking easy to go overboard. To get in the car and know that the drive could be short, but Sam had knocked himself out and She probably wouldn’t be far behind, so if Dean missed two or three turns or drove in an overly complex circle for two hours, nobody would stop him. They were only an hour from the bunker, nobody seemed to be upset by the additional time in Baby, and driving sent Dean’s head into some sort of humming, blissful joy he’d never felt in his damn life. It was like the quiet ease of driving had been duplicated, amplified, then shot right into his blood.

And two or three turns turned into nine or ten, and two hours became four. And She didn’t fall asleep, and the betterlust started to get hungry again. He couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror at Her drop-dead gorgeous face that couldn’t be his, and wanting her. Wanting Her to say one word to him, or smile at him, or sit just a little closer so he could offer the betterlust something. Anything that wasn’t this starving, tortuous, ugly need for Her. Closer closer closer, never close enough and She needs to be closer so Dean doesn’t rip off his own skin from how it’s boiling or pull out his tongue because it’s starting to cave in with words he’s not allowed to say.

Dean didn’t trust himself to talk to Her, but the longer she was awake, within his reach, and invading his head with Her everything, the closer he felt going batshit insane. He had to keep himself in fucking check, and figure out what he could be allowed to do with this.

He could not be allowed to touch Her. Touching Her was dangerous. Touching Her made this high feel like he’d died in the best way possible. Touching Her was like all the simple easy of driving and the sweet taste of pie and humming strength of a good drum line in a song that pounded in Dean’s chest were rolled into one thing that was soft and warm and just real good. The betterlust fall entirely silent just when his hand brushed against Her’s, then became loud and feral when the contact was taken away. Touching Her was so good that it made everything else became pointless. Touching Her was the best, so Dean could not be allowed to touch Her because then he’d never stop.

And this wasn’t dangerous. It was just driving, and everyone knew Dean loved driving, and Dean felt like he could walk away from this. That, when they parked and She and Sam shuffled back inside, Dean was strong enough to ignore the hungry voice in his head and itch in his hands to just start driving again. Just like how he’d eat a cheeseburger, but he didn’t always need to eat a cheeseburger. He’d eat pie, and then walk away. Dean could control this. The betterlust was easy to feed, and better to feed—She’d really nailed it on the head with that—and nobody got hurt.

As long as Dean kept himself under control, nobody got hurt.

So Dean could talk to Her. Be near Her with the knowledge that, if he let his gaze linger on Her peaceful, sleeping face for too long, he’d be more of a goner than he already was and never be able to look away. It was safe to do in the car, where he could pull his attention away because of safety and immediately offer the betterlust some more driving the fill the loss of Her. Dean could keep driving, and look at Her in moderation, and nobody would have to freak out about certain people being in love with certain other people, or an annoying, third person who was a massive lump in Baby’s back seat getting a smug I told you so face.

Sam was wrong, though. There wouldn’t be anything to be smug about with Her and Dean, because Sam was wrong. As they neared the bunker—for real this time—it was just Dean, the rumble of the engine, and the music, Dean fell further into his head. Usually the music could drown his thoughts out, but the betterlust was so determined to have Her that he needed to grab it and shout that having Her wasn’t a fucking option. Dean could offer the betterlust whatever it wanted, except Her. He tried to reason with it—She’s too good, Dean isn’t close to good enough, and She doesn’t want him so he can’t lose her over something dumb like feelings—but it didn’t seem interested in Dean’s flawless, rational logic. The betterlust just wanted Her in every way possible, and Dean couldn’t get Her, and this might be worse than the bloodlust. This was unfixable, and Dean wanted it just as much as the betterlust, and his chest was going to cave in on itself and take his heart down into his stomach, pressing it to tiny pieces and pushing it out so everyone could see how little control Dean had over his own goddamn body.

He’d have to get through this. They were only ten minutes from the bunker, and he’d work out how to see Her in moderation, and She wouldn’t get uncomfortable from how much of a sick, twisted, perverted son of a bitch he was, and he’d have Her as he was allowed to and never lose Her. He’d do every other thing that fed the betterlust, and nobody had to get hurt. The whole point of this was to stop the hurt, so Dean would get a fucking grip and live with what She and Sam had worked so hard to get him.

Then She started moaning. Dean thought it was just a noise of discomfort at first—he even slowed down so he didn’t disturb Her—but then she did it again, and it was breathless and needy and he was going to die. He could feel his face turn red, feel how his jeans were suddenly painful to wear and all the blood in his body was focused and throbbing where Dean needed Her, and all his plans of keep Her close but still at a manageable distance went out the window. Her lips were parted as Her breathing became heavy, She was squirming slightly in the seat under the touch of whatever the hell was doing that to her in her dreams, and Dean might have be forced to jump out of the car if he wasn’t already pulling into the bunker.

There was a long moment—right after he turned off the engine—where the only sounds were Sam’s snoring and Her moaning, and Dean wondered if this was hell. If Rowena had actually just killed him in that kiddie pool, and he was being tortured with Her looking and sounding and being like something he wanted to eat but was just out of his reach, all while his little brother slept in the back seat.

Dean adjusted himself in his seat—hiding his boner from Her view and blocking Her from Sam’s—and cleared his throat as loud as he possibly could.

Her eyes blinked open—hazy and blown out from either sleep or Her dream—and even Her adorable, sleepy yawn made Dean twitch in his pants.

“Hey,” She rolled a little onto her side, pushing herself upright, and Her voice sounded airy and soft and Dean could not look Her in the eyes. “Are we home?”

Dean grunted, nodding, and he had to get out of here. If he didn’t, he’d either kiss Her or explode. “Just parked,” he muttered, clenching his fists on Baby’s wheel in a slow pattern that usually calmed him down, but right now was doing jack shit. “Gonna go get some food.”

She hummed, leaning forward into Dean’s periphery with an expression he recognized as Her Dean, please be okay one. She was trying to kill him.

“Are you-“

“I’m fine. Hungry.” That wasn’t a lie. Dean was starving, just for something that wasn’t exactly food. It was right at his side, and probably wet and bitter in a way that would be so fucking good, and moan and whimper like a song, would shiver at his touch and grind on his hands and face and cock and-

He had to get out of here.

“Got pie in the freezer,” Dean said, pushing Baby’s door open in the way that he always yelled at Sam about. Too rough and reckless, practically punching her open, and he didn’t have the time to chastise himself or apologize to his car, because he had to go. “Wake up Sam for me.”

“Dean-“

“I said I’m good.”

“I know, but can you, can you please just look at me-“

Dean’s head turned of its own will, and it was the biggest mistake of his life. Her face was still slightly flushed, and she looked so nervous and worried, and her eyes were scanning over his face the same way they did in his dreams. Where he’d be covered in blood, and She’d look him over with care that never seemed to waver with doubt, and guide him into the shower. Strip them both, pull Dean under clear, steaming water and kiss him as all the blood was washed away. He’d be allowed to roll Her nipples between his fingers, and shove his knee between her thighs, and kiss Her until she said his name-

“Dean-“

He had to shake his head, force the spell of Her out of his vision and head and blood, and grab the betterlust by the throat to stop it from grabbing Her face and pulling it to his. She wouldn’t want that, and She shouldn’t do things she didn’t want to do, and Dean couldn’t be near Her like this. He still couldn’t control himself, and all of this had been a mistake because he could hurt something bad and sit in the guilt and hatred but still have Her, but now he couldn’t have Her at all.

He wasn’t even sure what his excuse was, but within the next ten seconds he was half running out of the garage, into the bunker, and locking himself in his room like some sort of feral animal. A beast that had to lock itself away from the people he loved, because they didn’t deserve him and he couldn’t force them to do more for him, and couldn’t stand to ask for what he wanted and be denied.

But he could get control back. He could find the smaller things that the betterlust wanted and keep feeding them. Drive and eat and maybe watching some fucking TV. Listen to music until he went deaf and work on Baby and stay the hell away from Her. She was dangerous to him. Not Her herself—She was awesome and cool and hot and Dean wanted Her on his face or lap or under his body, which was the problem—but the way the betterlust seemed to tunnel vision onto Her. The way Dean would just look at Her and his whole body would start to ache and boil and twist until he was talking to Her. And the more he spoke to Her the more he needed to touch her, and a little more control would slip, and eventually he’d just be unable to leave her side.

The distance was going to hurt Dean more than Her anyway. He’d figure out how to control this and immediately seek Her out when he did—She probably wouldn’t even notice he was avoiding Her—but until then he had to stay away. He’d agreed to this for things to be easier, not for himself, but for Her and Sam.

Staying away from Her would be easier for everyone. No complicated, emotional, chick flick conversations. No rejection. No showing Her that he wasn’t the strong, immovable man she was friends with and being tossed out onto the curb. Dean didn’t ever want to lose Her, this would make Her walk away—She wouldn’t want him, because she’d seen every single part of him and nobody would want them all—so Dean had to keep himself under control.

And it would be fine. Dean had control now, and he could feed the betterlust with so many other things, so this would be easy.

End Note: Answer to the last note - I am incapable of writing a short and sweet chapter, I had to make the whole mini-series an extra chapter, send help.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224 @underground-secret

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @spacecowgirl126 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @lovewolfspirit

[chiisana-sukima]

What's your opinion on the take that Sam is always running away?

The short answer is I think spn's ethics are insane.

The longer answer is that if you did a rewatch and counted up all the times that Sam objectively "runs away" from a problem/his family/etc and all the times Dean "runs away" from the same, I'm not sure who would actually win. But I do think the narrative frames Sam as the one who runs, and that, over the long term, it treats "running away" as his cardinal sin.

For example, when Dean runs away from his mistakes in Road Trip, the narrative does frame that as immature and self-destructive, and punishes him with the Mark of Cain. But by s11, this is reframed briefly as a "we" problem in s11a (Sam: "if we don't change, right now, all of our crap is just gonna keep repeating itself") and then never held against Dean personally thereafter. Whereas Sam's equivalent attempt at running away--the s4 demon blood arc--continues to be held against him by the narrative until at least 13x21 (Cas: we let Lucifer out of the Cage.)

Even more interestingly, at least to me, with the exception of Stanford, the narrative also tends to treat Dean's episodes of running away from Sam as "abandoning" him, but Sam's episodes of running away from Dean as "betraying" Dean.

This is Dean abandoning Sam to his fate as Lucifer's vessel. The narrative punishment is extreme, but not only does Dean get a do over in the same episode and it never comes up again, but the quote is remembered by fandom primarily as a quote about how close they are. And I do think that's borne out by the narrative. If Dean abandons Sam, the world will literally end.

Meanwhile though:

When Sam screws up with Dean, he's betraying him. The problem isn't just that Sam is an addict or that he ran away from Dean's attempt to forcibly detox him for his own somewhat questionable "good", but that he did so with a demon whore. It's portrayed as a personal betrayal in a way that Dean abandoning Sam to Lucifer is not.

In some ways, Sam is even the more steadfast brother. He may physically leave Dean at times but he never stops believing in Dean's capacity for good. When it's his turn to lock Dean in the panic room because Dean gives up and runs to destruction at the hands of Michael, he doesn't do it. And in the Mark of Cain arc, he affirms that even if Dean kills him, he accepts it as necessary and still believes Dean is a good man.

Which brings me to spn's ethics and fandom's response.

If there's one single thing that spn is entirely, completely, one hundred percent consistent on, it's that tumblr is wrong. You can't just walk out; leaving is always wrong and will usually end the world. It's wrong if it's temporarily for the evening because you'd like to have Thanksgiving dinner and your family doesn't do that, or for four years because you want to go to college, or for forever because all your remaining loved ones have been killed before your eyes, or if it's only a partial withdrawal because you want better boundaries in the face of years of violence and autonomy violations. (To be clear, spn thinks the violence and autonomy violations are wrong too; it's just especially adamant that the only appropriate response is self-sacrifice.) The only reason Sam is finally allowed to temporarily leave in the finale is because he so obviously no longer wants to.

And all of this, to be completely blunt, is batshit fucking crazy. And I mean that in the clinical technical sense of the word. As a system of ethics it's an enormous mess, as a behavioral guide it's guaranteed to result in inappropriate assignment of blame and unnecessary suffering, and it's hard to interpret it all for me personally as anything but a response to trauma.

I do think that on an emotional level there's something wildly compelling about it though, and it's fiction, after all, so there's nothing wrong with it as a fantasy. The idea that if only you could prove your loyalty strongly enough your family would finally accept you, flaws and all, is an impossible wish many of us have spent a lot of our real lives trying to actualize. And seeing it happen on screen when it can't happen irl can be cathartic, much like revenge stories can be cathartic even though irl revenge is a terrible idea. The vibes are, in short, without flaw.

The thing that's hard for me though is remembering that everyone irl grows at their own speed. Not everyone is in a position to cleanly separate their emotional enjoyment of a plotline or theme from their intellectual calculus about whether or not it makes any fucking sense--especially when those plotlines or themes are about violence, betrayal, abandonment, and abuse. And it's hard for me to remember sometimes that huge swathes of meta aren't actually the result of [insert negative judgement here] but are just reflective of a different series of experiences than the ones I happen to have had.

Honestly I find it frustrating. I wish people would be better about separating out what the story is saying from what they think of that message themselves. I feel like the format of fandom meta is often kind of a disaster. It adopts an authoritative, academic tone, but is usually actually used to express personal feelings and wishes without acknowledging that it's doing that.

It's not that I think people should have to disclose their personal experiences to write meta--on the contrary, sometimes that's helpful but sometimes it just makes it worse. Rather, I wish people would get in the habit of using more "I" statements and acknowledging their subjectivity more overtly. Back in the days when dinos roamed the earth and I was an undergrad, I learned that the use of the third person passive voice in academic writing is a political choice. It grants the illusion of more authority and objectivity than actually exists. I wish fandom would take up my professor's call to abandon it to some extent and say "I feel hurt that Sam left Dean alone with John to go to college" rather than "Sam is always running away".

[charles-leclerc-official]

Formula 1 Drivers as Supernatural Episodes

I have selected 2 episodes from the CW's hit show Supernatural for each driver in the 2024 F1 season. Enjoy!

These are episodes I feel fits a driver's personality/vibe/style/history and are meant to be complimentary. This is very vibes based XD

Presented in team order <3 (also I guess spn spoilers warning)

Charles Leclerc: Lazarus Rising x The Man Who Would Be King

Charles and the angel Castiel have a lot in common. Charles is seen as this figure that is leading Ferrari currently and into the future and his first season in Ferrari was iconic (Lazarus Rising) Dare I say some of his drives have been as insane as pulling a man out of hell. However it's been a bumpy road and the burdens of one of the most iconic teams is enough to try the patience of any man (The Man Who Would Be King) There are a lot of faith and religious parallels to be made here. If there was one driver insane enough to try to single-handedly fix heaven (Ferrari) Charles is that driver. Also you could cast him as Cas and I don't think anyone would complain. I could go on about the Charles-Cas parallels but we do have to get to the rest of the grid, so he gets two stand-out Castiel episodes.

Carlos Sainz: Trial and Error x The Devil You Know

Carlos sometimes smashes through plans like a hammer, sometimes you need schemes other times you need to throw them out the window and start punching (The Devil You Know). He's also been through the Ferrari trials which is no small feat, often requiring a lot of pressure and sacrifice (Trial and Error). I also feel like he could wrestle a hellhound and come out winning.

Lewis Hamilton: Swan Song x First Born

I felt that one of the most iconic final battles in Supernatural of Swan Song was fitting to encapsulate Lewis' many hard fought WDCs. In addition to First Born, where Dean goes to take the mantle of the mark of Cain from a man who keeps bees in his retirement (Lewis taking WDC from Seb parallels) Both massive turning points in the show and iconic, like Lewis. A lot of small plot and emotional beats in these two that really touch on some career moments.

George Russell: Defending Your Life x Girls Girls Girls

If there was any driver on the grid who would enter into a legal battle against an ancient god and win it's George Russell (Defending Your Life). Additionally George is one of the few who could pull off witchcraft with ease while looking iconic doing so (Girls, Girls, Girls) I just think George and Rowena would get along and get up to some trouble with the book of the damned.

Max Verstappen: The Executioner’s Song x In The Beginning

The parallels of young talent coming in to take down the former bearer of the mark of Cain to Max's 2021 WDC are strong. It was hard, it was messy, and it was one hell of a fight (The Executioner’s Song). Then we have more emotional nuance (In The Beginning) a guy who just likes cars and is kind of old school about them too. These episodes are nuanced and plot centric and that felt fitting. The vibes are here you have to trust me on this.

Sergio Perez: Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven x Criss Angel is a Douchebag

Do not underestimate Checo, much like you should not underestimate an arch angel that is related to you, and yet. The parallels between Adam, the third Winchester brother, and Checo are not lost, especially in meta context (Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven). Then of course Checo does have a flair and charm about him, he can pull a trick or two out of a car when people least expect (Criss Angel is a Douchebag).

Fernando Alonso: Good God Y’all x Weekend at Bobby’s

Fernando is chaos, he's here to cause unapologetic trouble, if he were to be a horseman of the apocalypse he'd be War and he'd have a hell of a time (Good God Y'all). Of course if there was one driver on the grid I know could figure out how to get his soul back from a demon after selling his soul in the first place Fernando would be that driver (Weekend at Bobby's) Naturally there are many Nando and Bobby parallels.

Lance Stroll: Scoobynatural x Hibbing 911

Of all the drivers on the grid at risk of getting sucked into a children’s cartoon I feel like Lance is at the top of the list (Scoobynatural). In addition I think he would be the chill hunter just casually explaining that ghosts are real to Scooby and the gang. Lance would also reluctantly become a vampire hunter if they invaded his small community (Hibbing 911) And he very much reminds me of both Donna and Jody in various ways.

Oscar Piastri: About a Boy x Jack in the Box

I feel like Oscar would be a good witch hunter, I also think if he was hit with a de-aging spell he'd be able to handle it and not panic and figure out how to get out of that situation, worry about the soul crushing curse later (About a Boy). And of course with the way his second season in F1 has been going it very much feels like Mclaren have been holding back a young driver from reaching his potential because they are afraid of his capabilities, you could say they have been putting a nephilim in a box designed to hold back his power (Jack in the Box). Also I cannot be the only one who sees the Jack and Oscar resemblance.

Lando Norris: Swap Meet x I Know What You Did Last Summer

Tell me Lando would not somehow end up practicing black magic accidentally on purpose and somehow survive (Swap Meet). That and I think he would also really like this episode in general. I feel like the duality between Ruby and Anna presented in I know What You Did Last Summer captures a very specific vibe about Lando, is he the demon trying to trick a guy into drinking his blood? Or is he the angel that decided to become human because he was done with heaven's shit? Depends on the day honestly.

Kevin Magnussen: Rock Never Dies x Survival of the Fittest

If there was any driver on the grid that would make crashing the Impala part of the plan to take down eldritch monsters it would be Kmag (Survival of the Fittest). Rock Never Dies just fits Kevin, iconic, villainous, Lucifer comes back a second time and is ready to cause chaos. The whole vibe of this episode is insane and it fits Kevin's particular brand of heart and unique driving. He's loud, you are not going to forget he's there, you should be afraid.

Nico Hulkenberg: Shut Up Dr Phil x My Heart Will Go On

Nico just has the look of a man who would time travel to get rid of a single Celine Dion song (My Heart Will Go On). He does have a lot in common with Balthazar, fun loving but powerful and can execute a plan, he might just end up adding his own flair to it. And I think Nico's spats with others are not frequent, but when they do happen they are memorable (Shut Up Dr Phil) Plus he reminds me of these old witches who have been married a few centuries and keep the chaos alive.

Ollie Bearman: The Girl with the Dungeon and Dragons Tattoo x Reading is Fundamental

Including Ollie in the Haas section since he's raced for them the most this year on the F1 grid. But his story starts as the young talent called at the last minute to solve a huge problem, driving a Ferrari in Jeddah with an hour of practice. I'd say that's similar to being suddenly asked to single-handedly go against some of the most dangerous monsters in the world with no training in monster fighting (The Girl with the Dungeon and Dragons Tattoo) but also being surprisingly good at it. Then we have another team needing young talent to step up and drive their car when things were down, you could say Ollie is in advanced placement in terms of being an F1 rookie now (Reading is Fundamental) I think the Ollie Kevin Tran comparisons are strong. Overall these two episodes of young talent needed at the last minute to save the day really sum up Ollie's 2024 F1 experience.

Yuki Tsunoda: The Gamblers x A Little Slice of Kevin

Sometimes luck is on Yuki's side, and often times it feels like it's not. But then again he's been fighting and sticking around longer than most other drivers in the face of more bad luck than one man should deal with, so perhaps he's won against an old roman god for a bit of luck, who's to say (The Gamblers). Then we get to the duality in A Little Slice of Kevin, young talent being used as a pawn in the larger scheme of Red Bull, more likely than you'd think. Is he escaping purgatory or being captured by demons? Probably both.

Daniel Ricciardo: Frontierland x Blood Brother

I know one thing about Danny, he would time travel back to the wild west to hunt down a rare monster no questions asked. He would bring his own cowboy hat as well (Frontierland). Danny also has that quality of guy who doesn't ask for much, so when he asks for a favor you gotta help. He also does have similar vibes to Benny, don't tell me he wouldn't make a great southern vampire (Blood Brother).

Liam Lawson: War of the Worlds x Bad Day at Black Rock

Similar to Yuki, Liam's luck is a tricky thing. He was in a will he won't he situation at Red Bull for so long. If he had a rabbit's foot he kept losing and picking up again I wouldn't be surprised (Bad Day at Black Rock). I think the episode really captures that kind of swinging pendulum of luck his junior career has seen. Then of course now he's been called to the seat he's caught up in a pretty intense battle at the end of the season, with a lot of demands being made on top of the constant turmoil within the team. Imagine Lucifer is telling you not to do a spell another powerful arch angel is commanding you to do, I feel like that about sums up how he's been thrown into F1 (War of the Worlds).

Alex Albon: Heart x It’s A Terrible Life

Alex was a rookie that went under the radar, at first, but something bigger was brewing in the background and then boom he was suddenly at the center of the driver market and was thrown into the spotlight. A feeling reflected in It's A Terrible Life. Alex is also the type of try to help someone against all odds, even when they seem impossible (Heart). Also I am not denying I am possibly calling him a werewolf fucker, here but tell me I'm wrong.

Logan Sargeant: Jump the Shark x Dog Dean Afternoon

Logan would do well being able to communicate with a dog and would adapt well to taking on dog-like traits to solve a case (Dog Dean Afternoon) I don't even think he'd question it. Forgotten, overlooked, massively unlucky I don't think there is a better Supernatural parallel for Logan than season 4 Adam (Jump the Shark). He was a great guy who got caught in the middle of something dangerous and paid the price.

Franco Colapinto: Red Sky at Morning x Sharp Teeth

Franco is one of the guys who I just think would be able to make it work for him if he were accidentally turned into a werewolf. He'd take a few months off, come back and be totally fine (Sharp Teeth). I cannot fully explain but Franco does give me Bella vibes, the mix of mischief and amusing self confidence perhaps, or maybe he just has the look of an international occult thief? (Red Sky at Morning) He'd be able to steal rare artifacts using his looks and charm I know that.

Valtteri Bottas: Party On Garth x Everybody Loves a Clown

Valtteri strikes me as the most like Garth. Fun, a little silly, but good at his job and scary when he needs to be (Party On Garth). His methods may seem a little out there but he gets the job done. How could I not include the introduction of the best mullet on Supernatural? I know Valtteri would love Ash and call him #mulletgoals (Everybody Loves a Clown). Another character who seems a little unserious out of the profession but Ash is brilliant and knows how to lock in.

Zhou Guanyu: Hunteri Heroici x Wayward Sisters

Zhou would 100% interrogate that cat and get information. He's probably an expert (Hunteri Heroici). I think his level headed mindset would also really help in a case where the world is literally going Loony toons. Zhou also has been through it, but is strong, and iconic in his unique way (Wayward Sisters). He's been fighting an uphill battle in that Sauber car, new hunter learning on the job has a similar experience, add a little dimension hopping in there for flavor.

Esteban Ocon: Beyond the Mat x Hollywood Babylon

Esteban is a sweetheart but do not be fooled, he absolutely would take down his childhood hero if he needed to (Beyond the Mat). I also think that he'd absolutely be one of those hunters looking for all the old Hollywood ghosts, he'd be an expert about which myths were real or fake and have that locked down over there (Hollywood Babylon).

Pierre Gasly: Monster Movie x Simon Said

I am not saying Pierre is a shapeshifter, but I am saying that if he was he'd be doing the over the top camp and theatrics seen in Monster Movie. Also he like Dean has a way of finding out how to have fun even when things are extremely stressful. If he did have mind control powers he'd use them for good or not use them at all, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to use them or that he's not strong (Simon Said).

That's the end! Thank you for reading. This was just something silly I have been working on. It's mostly vibes based but I had a lot of fun putting it together.

*Carry on Wayward Son + F1 theme mashup starts playing*

[autisticandroids]

free space: medium-sized destiel

so in my reclists for @spnficrecfest i haven't been including many fics that are very "big destiel."

this is partly because i've been trying to keep the kudos count lower (though obviously this hasn't been absolute), and also because i actively did not include any "post empty destiel fix it" type fics in the dabb era reclist because they're kind of a genre unto themselves. nor have i intentionally made space in other reclists for fics that have a particular destiel romance novel vibe. obviously there's some, but those tend to dominate reclists, and i wanted to highlight smaller fics.

so this is my "big destiel" reclist, except i still did not include anything that had >2k kudos, because those are generally speaking pretty well known already.

some of these fics are small and just have the big destiel vibes, but a lot of them are more in the 1k kudos range than the hundred kudos range, on account of being big, or medium-sized, destiel.

in order of word count:

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? by everytuesday, 1k

a couple of takes on the confession scene. very special to me.

rot and grace by extemporaneous, 3k, violence warning

cas watches dean murder the world. corruption kink.

some dying star looks dull in the light by sp8ce, 4k

heaven angst with a happy ending, post-empty.

one step closer by rhinestoneangels, 4k

an empty rescue. i love the empty geography in this one.

i didn't feel it on the first day, and now i got it in the worst way by wintertree, 6k

meg pov on a post-widower arc destiel.

the doorway to a thousand churches by sonatine, 6k

cas and the deans from goodbye stranger.

if you try sometimes, well you just might find by jenthesweetie, 9k

cas pov on dean's wants.

godot ain't got nothing on me and my baby by ilovehowyouletmefall, 10k

post empty, cas became death. the only way dean could see him is by dying.

before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10k

a silly little case where cas and dean realize how they see each other.

solitudes by ilovehowyouletmefall, 21k

cas sees dean see cas die. a wonderful little melodrama. i actually really liked how it handled dean's alcoholism (not really as something to be solved but just as a... reality to be dealt with) and i'm OBSESSED with the director's commentary. if this had been published in 2021 instead of 2023, every heller would have read it three times over.

powerless in dreams by calicoyak, 24k

a post-empty fic. i really liked some of the cas stuff in this one.

between a rock and a hard place by amidsizefrog, 24k

dean's dick doesn't work. also cas is dead. maybe the two are related.

every single thing by thestoryinsideme, 37k

a charming and goofy season nine fic. dean is a shitty little man in a very canonical way that is also deeply sweet and adorable.

a light above descending by hedderstheowl, 38k

a mark of cain fic with chefkiss angel stuff. a recent favorite of mine. really put this author on the map for me.

with understanding by apokteino, 427k, chose not to warn and noncon warning

yeah it's with understanding. you've heard of it. go read it now chop chop.

and if your wondering which fics (that you've probably read) got the axe for having too many kudos: it was on labor, the bee movie fic, time has come today, and r/supernatural. that's my taste. if you were curious.

[manwiththemagic]

The writers of s11 were cowards. If IIIIIIIIIII was in charge I'd made Lucifer's weird obsession with Sam show up more. Like the writers have very obviously included it and yet when Lucifer is processing the same vessel as cas, and therefore pretending to be cas, he just fucks off and tortures Crowley with fucked up bdsm pet play.

Like the few times casifer and Sam interacted were GOLD. because Sam sees it as his best friend cas, and Lucifer (who keeps talking about Sam like they're toxic ex's) is pretending to be him!! Although not to well. Like his freaky smirk when sending Dean into the past and coming back to harass Sam? Dude lives off of sadistic pleasure.

The way he full on LAUGHS when Sam says he trusts him bc Sam thinks it's cas?? Like gold!?!? Don't know why the writers didn't do more with that.

Also why not do more with the 'lucifer sent Sam visions to get him down to hell'. Like Lucifer is Obsessed w/ sam because that body/vessel is "supposed to be" his. And yet after revealing himself he doesn't try and convince Sam anymore?

He's just given up? Like nah man I don't believe that. I feel like he woulda fucked with Sam more in cas' body. And like it woulda been a way better not-romance-romance plot then whatever the fuck Dean and Amara were..

Like that came outta no where... I mean I get it.. but ew?? We saw her grow up, and maybe id argue "well there were two versions of her!! One physical on earth, the other her actual form and memories as a celestial being!!" BUT NO. SHE CALLS CROWLEY UNCLE CROWLEY.

cause he like raised her for a day or wtv..

Idk s11 is better than s10. Like the episode from baby's prospective?? PEAK CINEMAAAA!! also not that I dislike s11, no I quite love it, I just wish the dean plots were more fleshed out, and that it was more "Dean and Sam vs the world!!" Then Dean vs Sam yk??

Like where's my dynamic duo??

That's part of why I didn't like s10. Like no I loved the IDEA of Mark of Cain dean, and demon dean was hilarious (although I HATE him) but it was just Dean vs Sam, Dean vs cas, Dean vs the world. And idk I liked the idea, cause this time it was sam doing everything to save Dean, but man I just didn't like the fighting..

Also s11 had a mention of TMNT, S10 did not so... points!!

S1 and 2 of spn were peak ofc, and s3 was good but not really memorable for me?? Idk I'll go back and rewatch once I finish the series (just finished s11)

S4 and 5 were also really good, we got Castiel who is peak, blood junkie Sam, which was one of my favorite plots!! And of course a lot more bobby. Rest in peace king!

And unlike some I loveeeed s6-7 like.. the soulless plot, and death? Dean dealing with soulless sam?? Chefs kiss I mean mwah. Then Sam tweaking because of hallucinations. NOT TO MENTION GODSTIEL?? loved him sm stg.

8-9-10 is where it kinda fell off. I mean idk the leviathans?? Weak. Hated them ngl. Idk if they were s7 but either way.. mid. I didn't like purgatory bc no way Sam would do that?? But I did like how it developed deans character..

I don't remember what happened in what season but I lovedddd kevin, hated metatron (but in the "it's because he's well done" kinda way), the tablets were aight, Mark of Cain was uh... something.. (I hate demon dean but he was peak..)

So like idk.. show is peak though, I'm just at that point in the hyperfixtion where it's like "BUT I COULD DO IT BETTER!!" ykwim?? NVM I'm sick with a fever, supernatural is all I have going for me man.

[ninii-winchester]

Revived (Final)

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.3k

Warnings : mentions of medical aid, potential spoilers s9, mark of cain mentioned, fluff(?)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean's hand shook as he carried Y/n inside the motel room. Sam quickly fetched the medical kit and rushed to her side. Laying her down on one of the beds, Dean carefully teared apart the hole which was caused by the blade stab, giving Sam more room to stitch her thigh.

After her wound was closed and bandaged Dean helped her with a glass of water, encouraging her to take small sips. After the small cuts on her face were cleaned too, the room fell into a uncomfortable silence. Dean's gaze was hard as he stared at her, now that the anxiety rush of her being in danger passed, he's furious. The demon's word came crashing back into him. For a minute he could've let it go, given demons lie all the time. But Crowley's appearance had nailed down the last bit of uncertainty he had.

Y/n had actually sold her soul.

Sam paced the room, unable to wrap his head around the events of last few hours. This was supposed to be a normal hunt, no different from any other one they've ever been on, never in his entire life he could've expected this outcome of a supposed hunt.

Y/n's heart was beating rapidly, she could feel it against her ribcage, as if it would jump out of her mouth any second. She knew what she had done and she knew she'd have to deal with the consequences of her actions but it never occurred to her, that it would come hit her sooner than she has expected. The look on both brothers face told her that neither of them were pleased with her decision. She decided its time she bites the bullet and get this over with.

"Say it." She whispered lowly. None of the boys spoke for a whole minute before Sam spoke,

"Why'd you do it?" He questioned, "Rowena said she can bring him back."

"She told me she couldn't do it. She lied because I told her to." She replied avoiding eye contact with either brother. "She said it's not a hex or curse so cannot undo it, Dean died because he hit his head."

"You told me not to do it and you go ahead and do the exact same thing!" Sam exclaimed while Dean continued to watch them silently. When she didn't reply Sam shook his head slumping down on a chair. She took a deep breath before answering,

"You two have been dancing this dance for so long. I knew Dean would be pissed if he found out you sold your soul. I just wanted him back, is it so wrong?" She said her voice getting louder.

"And you think I wouldn't be pissed if it were you?" Dean finally spoke.

"It doesn't matter. I did what I wanted to. You're not the boss of me." She replied crossing her arms across her chest.

"I.." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose before he spoke again, "this isn't about being anyone's boss, how could you be so stupid?" He snapped stepping closer to her bed. Sam felt the tension rising in the room so he quietly slipped out of the room.

"Call me stupid, reckless or careless. Truth is I am selfish." She yelled, tears welling up in her eyes. Dean recoiled a bit at that. "I am selfish, I don't want to live in world where there is no Dean Winchester. I would do it over and over again if it means that you survive." Her voice turned low as she looked away, her lip quivering as she tried to keep herself from crying her wits out.

Dean hadn't expected her to express herself so openly, he knew the two of them confessed to being in love with each other but he never guessed the intensity of her love for him. He took a cautious step towards her and sat beside her on the bed.

"Hey, look at me." Dean spoke as softly as he could. "I understand your feelings but sacrificing your life for me isn't what I want from anyone, not you, not Sammy or anyone else." He cupped her cheek in his hand.

"Dean, I got fifteen years before the sacrifice comes into play. And I'm a hunter, who's to say I was going to live a long life. I'm happy to give my life as long as I get to spend it with you, or whatever's left of it."

"Hell ain't no field trip, sweetheart. I don't want you to go through all that pain."

"We'll think about it when we get there. One day at a time?"

Dean sighed knowing there's no way out it. He would never be able to convince her to undo it. For him, fifteen years is too less to spend with her, but it's enough for him to get here out this mess. And he swore on everything he loves, he will get her out of this mess.

Dean has never considered himself lucky, if anything he's always thought that fate was out there to get him. To fuck him up in more ways than one, but this time, he felt the cards were stacked in his favour.

Dean and Crowley went to see Cain, they decided to team up to take down Abbadon. Cain was nonchalant about the demons attacking them while Dean fought vigorously. Crowley dealt with some other demons and came to where Dean and Cain were.

"If you want I can give you the mark Dean," Cain spoke with urgency. "With the mark and the First Blade, you can take care of Abbadon."

Dean looked at Crowley, who seemed like he was ready to beg on his knees for him to do it. But Dean didn't want him to beg, his gaze turned demanding.

"Her soul." Was the only thing he said.

Cain looked back and forth between the Winchester and The king of Hell. Crowley rolled his eyes but brought up a piece of paper and burned it.

"Your girl's soul is her own now." Crowley spoke, not happy about giving it back but he had bigger problems at hand.

Cain raised a brow at Crowley's words and he added, "you're much more like me than I thought." He said remembering how he left all the Hell business behind for his Colette. Dean nodded towards Cain's mark and the man transferred the mark to Dean.

"Are you fucking insane?" Was the first thing Y/n yelled as soon as she saw the Mark on Dean's arm.

"Insanely in love with you, yes." He replied plopping on the chair, taking a swig of his beer.

"Not funny, Dean. What did you do!?" She exclaimed observing his arm.

"Wasn't trying to be funny, sweetheart. Crowley had your soul and he gave it back in exchange of me ganking that Abbadon bitch." Dean said nonchalantly and it angered her to no end.

"You're talking as if you just bought groceries Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? That Mark is evil, it'll turn you into a monster." Dean stood up from his chair and walked over to her.

"I have you to keep me grounded. And I'd rather be a monster than let you go to hell. This discussion is over." He pecked her lips before walking away.

That discussion was far from over but Dean made sure it was never brought up ever again. It was hard time for Y/n when Dean became a demon. It took Y/n and Sam a lot of blood, sweat and tears to bring him back but they did it.

“Can we please promise no more bargains with demons?” Y/n sighed into Dean’s chest as he held her tightly in his embrace.

“It’s a deal.” She looked at him with an incredulous look and he winked at her. She sighed dropping her forehead on his chest. He’s a cheeky bastard but he’s her cheeky bastard. And she wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Tags:

@galway-girlatwork

[daughterofcain-67]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 : 𝖕𝖙1

(MOC!Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(Raised in Blood Masterlist)

(The Curse Masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it had been several months since you left Sam and Dean behind in the bunker and Dean has had enough of the mark on his arm. Luckily for him, Dean has a brother who is willing to help him find a way to get rid of the Mark of Cain, but there are only so many leads and who’s to say that all methods out there are useful?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spn level violence, gore which may be graphic for some audiences, an addition of characters that are not in the show

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is a sequel to the Raised in Blood series, masterlist is linked at the top. In order to understand some of the references to the reader’s past and her relationship with Dean it would be advisable to read the first story. Hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Previously…

“So, Y/N… Why don’t you stay with us for a while? Get some rest and get used to this new body of yours?” Sam asked.

“Sam…” Dean said in a solemn tone.

“Oh.. right. I’ll leave you two to uh.. I’ve gotta go umm… I’ve got a thing.” Sam said as he awkwardly left, and you gave Sam a little grin.

You looked up at Dean and he cautiously stepped closer to you.

“You aren’t staying.. are you?” Dean asked softly.

“You know that I can’t…”

“Y/N, those things I said.. None of that was all me. Being a demon changed almost everything about me. Honestly I don’t even think before I turned you and I even had a chance to really learn about each other.”

“Then how much of it really was you, Dean? Tell me? Was it the sleeping around with other girls? Was it the anger you felt when I was trying to look out for you? What was it?”

“That night in the hotel between us was real… the moments before the battle with Metatron were real when you were telling me about what the mark would do to me, those were real. When I thanked you for staying when Sam and I were split up, that was real.”

You shook your head. “It may have been real for a moment. But like you said, you and I didn’t have the time to really learn. All of this has been nothing but a scrambled mess and there was nothing solid for us.”

“If you go out there, it will be a lot more dangerous. You’re human now and there’s a lot more than just the First Blade that can kill you now.” Dean said, and you could detect the very same thing that he argued with you about - worry.

“Dean? I’ll be okay. I’ve had several centuries if not millennia of experience in combat. Plus I have this.” You said and you held out your arm. “You know it won’t let me die.”

Now

Dean felt like his arm was being engulfed in flames. For the past several months since you've been gone it had felt as if the mark on his arm had been enraged - as odd as that may even sound.

Although, he had been trying to keep his irritability intact, and trying even harder not to fall into that dark path again. He knew he couldn't afford to become a demon once again and he didn't want to become a monster that kills people without a second thought. Not after he'd been down that road once already.

Dean was sitting down at one of the several tables in the library drinking a glass of whisky neat while Sam claimed he was running off doing some errand with Castiel.

Dean wasn't exactly sure what the two of them planned on doing but whatever it was, he knew they were at least trying to help Dean finally get the mark off his arm. He couldn't take it anymore, not after what he did to those men that almost hurt Claire. It made Dean sick to even think about what they could've done. A part of him delighted in the thought of ripping them to shreds all over again but as soon as those dreadful memories started to come back, the more guilty Dean began to feel and the more desperate he became to be rid of the curse.

As he lifted the glass up to his lips he finally heard a door open, only to hear the sound of the most annoying, aggravating voice he'd ever heard.

"What makes you think I'll ever help you after you imprisoned me?! You and the angel are both crazy!"

"Metatron?" Dean grumbled under his breath but rather than going over to Sam to confront him, he just watched as his little brother took him down to the dungeon they had there in the bunker.

As Dean listened to the way that God-forsaken angel grumble and complain, Dean started to remember the last fight he had before he became a demon. He remembered the adrenaline coursing in his blood, the determination he had to gut the bastard until his insides were on the outside.

He remembered being so close to finally killing the bastard only for the blade Metatron had to go through his chest. And the very second that happened, everything began to change.

Before his mind could dwell too much on that transformation, he heard his phone buzz while it was on top of the table just for Sam's name to show up.

SW: You may wanna come in here if you want to help me find answers.

Dean had to admit, he was a little astonished that Sam even wanted Dean to help with the interrogation. Even then, Dean knew Sam wouldn't let him take things too far. All Dean could do was hope he wouldn't take things too far in the first place, but when it came to someone like Metatron, there were no promises to be made.

Dean got up from his chair, downed the last if the whiskey in the glass before he set it back down on the table and started making his way down to the dungeon.

Sure enough, Metatron was still babbling on about his bullshit on how he was guessing was a demon, wanting to know if he had finally snapped - which the answer to all of those questions were a simple 'yes' whether Dean wanted to admit it or not.

But when Dean finally made his appearance, he saw the baffled look on Metatron's face. The initial reaction was nearly worth all the Hell Dean had been through with this whole ordeal... almost.

"So... you found your way back to the land of the living... well isn't that a bitch." Metatron finally said as he looked over at Sam.

"How'd you manage to pull that off? Did you actually get your hands a little dirty for once instead of making Dean the black sheep of your little family?"

"You know what forget the mark and kill him now." Dean grumbled, not even wanting Metatron to be the one that helped him. There was no way he'd be that cooperative anyway.

"Oh man.. he must really be a mess. Who knew the mark was so toxic?" Metatron said before cutting himself off.

"Actually, maybe I did. But nobody likes a spoiler in a story." He continued and Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes as Sam started to talk.

"Yeah so how do we get it off?"

"What? No more social hour? Come on, I've just been out of prison where no one would talk to me. Maybe I have more to say than you think."

"Well we're not here for socializing so we're moving on to the next part of the agenda." Sam continued on.

"That part would be us asking the questions, you give us the answers, unless you'd rather do things the hard way where I beat the answers out of you." Dean glared.

"What makes you assume I won't help you right away? Don't tell me you're truly that easy to antagonize now. Are you really that irritable with all of this? Gosh that mark is probably going to own you sooner rather than later if you keep that up." Metatron continued then he looked up at Dean and gave him a knowing, sly and nearly malicious smile.

"Imagine how agonizing it must be without its other half."

Somehow Dean knew exactly what this angelic son of a bitch was referring to and with two mighty stomps and a large hand suddenly around Metatron's throat he spoke, "You leave her name or any implication of her out of your damned mouth before I carve out your tongue."

"You do that, and you'll never know how to get that mark off your arm."

"Then spit it out already. It's not like it's that much of a pleasure keeping you down here." Sam said.

"Speak for yourself Sammy. I'd love to let him rot." Dean said and removed his hand from the angel's throat.

"Okay than..." Metatron cleared his throat to the best of his ability.

"Well.. the first thing you need is going to be an old friend of yours. And that would be the one, and the only, First Blade."

Dean heard the two final words that came out of Metatron's mouth, and it was like the mark began to pulse on his arm just at the mention of the name. Dean's hand slowly formed a fist and he could practically feel the familiar touch of the blade's handle as if he truly had a grip on it, then he looked at Metatron.

"As I said before... isn't life a bitch?"

"Son of a bitch..." Dean muttered as he walked out of the dungeon.

Sam watched Dean turn on his heel and walk out before he glared at Metatron.

"That's all you can tell us? The only thing you can come up with?" Sam asked and Metatron gave an 'innocent' little shrug.

"It's all you're getting out of me for the time being."

Sam's jaw tightened before he got up from the table he'd been sitting on and he followed Dean out of the dungeon, slamming the door behind him.

"I thought you and Castiel said you had an idea of how to get the mark off. And you brought Metatron? Didn't you tell me Y/N told you something that could help? There's no way in the darkest part of Hell that she'd suggest this bullshit." Dean said.

"If you hadn't let her go then we would've been a Hell of a lot further in looking into her lead but as of right now there have been no leads on the Book of the Damned she was talking about. Metatron is the best we've got and even then his plan is a terrible idea." Sam retorted.

Dean went quiet for a moment, brows knitting together as the mark on his arm pulsed in anger yet again and felt like it was burning all over again at the thought of letting you just leave. He wanted so badly for you to stay but he knew you had your reasons. He just hated that it felt like he hadn't tried hard enough to make you stay.

Then there was the matter of the First Blade. He knew it was more than just a 'bad idea' for him to wield that weapon again. Especially when he killed several men practically the first chance he got when he was left alone.

"Don't tell me you're actually giving the Frist Blade a legitimate thought. You know it's horrible and you can't be trusted with it!"

"I'm not saying I have to use it or that I need to be in any kind of contact with it, but what if this is the shot we need to take? Yeah, Metatron can be a lying son of a bitch, but if we can't even find a single lead on the Book of the Damned then this might just be the next best thing we can come up with." Dean tried to explain while Sam ran a large hand through his hair.

"How can we know whether or not this will actually work? We don't even know what he wants us to do with the damned thing."

"So for now we just play it safe, alright? We obtain the blade, you don't tell me where it is, we learn the spells and that's that. We don't even know if I even need to touch it."

"Wait a minute wait a minute, what if this is really the mark trying to get you to get a hold of it again? How do you know it doesn't have a stronger hold again?" Sam asked, the skepticism evident in his tone.

"It's not the mark, and no I don't trust anything about this Sam but this is the best thing we can come up with right now."

"No it isn't." Sam said and Dean turned around for a moment.

"I'm not doing that and you know it."

"Why the Hell not? Maybe she's had more luck on finding the book than we have and we can get you safely out of this mess without the blade!"

"I'm not calling Y/N - that's final."

There were terrified screams all around you, tortured voices of men, women and children all crying out in agony. There was red everywhere as you walked around your surroundings. The boots you wore were sticky with blood as a result of each step you took. The metallic smell invaded your senses and yet you didn't have much of a reaction. You'd grown accustomed to the aroma of death all your life and this was just the beginning.

"M-Mama, I'm scared. Mama, please, w-wake up!" a little boy, not much older than you said with tears in his eyes as he gripped tightly onto the collar of his mother's dress.

You walked over to the boy and he must've seen your shadow. He slowly turned around and you could see the fear in his eyes.

"Y-You.. You're just a girl."

"Don't worry... you'll get to be with your Mama soon enough." You said and you pulled a knife from the pocket of your blood-soaked dress.

When the boy tried to run, your demonic speed allowed you to speed up and appear in front of him and you slashed his throat without giving him a second to blink. You could still feel his last breath brush your cheek as he tried to gasp for air before he fell to the ground.

You turned around and looked up as a demon with fiery red hair walked up to you. Her eyes black as onyx and lips as red as crimson tugged upward into a smile, a sickeningly prideful one at that.

"Well done, Y/N. You've passed this exam. Once you return home we'll begin the next steps in your training." Abaddon said.

Your mother stepped behind you and placed her hands on your shoulders before turning you around so you could see your reflection in one of the windows that somehow remained intact after all the chaos you'd spread.

The reflection showed a little girl who's eyes were glowing red yet there was no expression on the little girl's face. Her dress was once white and it had been stained in various shades of red. In her hand, there was a knife and on her arm, there was a cursed mark that the girl had been cursed to bare since birth, the same mark her father was cursed with by God himself. The blood was spattered on her face and yet it seemed to be another ordinary day for this girl without a soul.

"To this day, no one truly knows what really happened to the people who disappeared on Roanoke Island."

You blinked once or twice as the voice brought you out of your trance and you suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you. The tour was over anyway so you rushed off to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in one of the stalls.

Once your stomach contents were emptied, you slowly rose back up and wiped your lip with a Kleenex tissue from the packet you had stored in your pocket. You were glad you were at least prepared, but you hadn't anticipated something like this happening.

You were visiting the place where your first exam took place. Apparently, it was currently known as Dare County, off the North Carolina coast.

You weren't sure why you thought visiting such a morbid place was such a good idea for you. You hadn't expected the impact of the memories to hit you the way that it had. Then again, you were still trying to grow accustomed to human emotion now that you were no longer a demon thanks to the Winchesters.

You tossed the Kleenex into the bowl and flushed before exiting the stall to clean yourself up. The sickening feeling never left you though.

Now that you were visiting this place once more, you could almost hear all of the voices and the screams again. You could even remember that little boy's expression before he died.

Being human sucked, now that you know what guilt felt like. It didn't help that you were beginning to learn the emotional aspects of what trauma could do to a person. Abaddon truly was a monster for raising a child the way she did.

You were nearly glad Dean was the one that killed her. If it had been you, the result may have been more disastrous.

Once you had washed your hands and your mouth, you took some gum you had in your pocket and placed a piece in your mouth before tossing the trash away and you made your way outside.

"Hey there, you alright?"

A voice startled you, causing you to glance over. Upon seeing an ordinary looking man, you calmed down a little. He seemed to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties but not likely.

He was tall, had short dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to be filled with some sort of concern. Although you thought he looked familiar... maybe he was a part of the tour you were just on.

"I'm fine, thank you." You finally answered and you saw a small grin appear on his face.

"Here, let me get you some water or something from one of the vending machines. You look kinda pale, maybe some hydration will help."

Your brow arched upward. You had to admit you were still trying to get used to the kindness some humans seemed to show. Nevertheless, you decided to take this stranger up on his offer. Anything was better than the current taste in your mouth despite the spearmint gum you were chewing.

"Sure. Thank you." You followed this man to a nearby vending machine and he grabbed a dollar bill, inserted it into the machine and once he selected a water bottle he grabbed it from the dispenser and handed it over to you.

"Thank you again.. umm...."

"Ab- uh... Abe."

"Frog in your throat there, Abe?" You asked with an arched brow and he simply smiled at you, broader than the smile from before. Then you saw something in his eyes.

His gaze seemed warm but they looked as if they held so many secrets from literal eons ago. He may have looked young physically, but there was definitely something about him that was ancient, seemingly as old as time.

"Take a walk with me. It's getting too crowded here." Even though this felt more like a demand rather than an invitation, you didn't quite feel threatened by this man. So you followed him outside so the two of you could take your stroll and you drank some of the water he'd bought for you.

"So, what brings you to this part of town? I don't think I've seen you around here." Abe asked.

"Oh, um... I'm taking a bit of a road trip and I have a bit of a n interest in history and this mystery has always fascinated me." You said, trying to come up with something on the spot wasn't always easy but you hoped he'd leave it at that.

Shockingly, all he did was hum before he started to speak again.

"There have been a lot of theories about what may have occurred in Roanoke. I think one of the more hilarious theories is the involvement of extraterrestrial beings." He spoke, holding up the conversation.

"You're not one to believe in aliens?"

"I didn't say that. I believe God has a creative, even imaginative mind. I'm sure He grew curious as to what other intelligent life He could make worship Him even if they aren't in His likeness. But no, I know His other creations haven't come to meddle in the matters of Earth back then."

Okay, this conversation was beginning to take a weird turn. Abe started to speak as if he knew the All Father and it was a little unsettling. Had you come across an angel? This couldn't be a safe situation considering you had been nothing but a demon up until this point.

"Look, I know you angels aren't fond of demons, especially since the Winchesters foiled the plans of the End Times, but I've done my best to keep out of your mess for centuries." You stated, prepared to get onto the defensive. Yet all Abe did was let out a chuckle.

"You know very little despite living for a long time, Y/N." Your eyes widened for a moment. You didn't recall ever giving Abe your name in response, so how did he know who you were?

"Who are you?" You asked warily.

Abe glanced down at you r arm and you watched as his gaze seemed to soften, "Someone who should be the one carrying your curse."

Your brows narrowed with confusion but the man looked at you again and he took a gentle hold of your hand before lifting your arm up to him as if to get a better look.

"May I?" His tone was shockingly soft and you had a feeling you might've known who this was, yet you didn't want to admit it for yourself. Instead, you just nodded and he let his fingers graze over the mark your family shared.

Your arm tensed and you nearly hissed in pain as the skin burned with sensitivity, "Relax, I'm not here to harm you."

You looked at Abe again and you slowly began to relax. As you continued to observe, Abe closed his eyes and you could tell his shoulders were tensing up a little and when he opened his eyes again, you could see the white glow in his eyes, the same as any other angel.

"A child should never have had to gone through what you did. A child like you should never have been brought into this world for such malicious intensions. Your father would never had stood for this, only because he knows what a curse this is to begin with. He would never want such a thing passed on to anyone with his blood." The glow in his eyes dissipated once more.

"I'll ask again, who are you?"

Abe let out a scoff before he lifted his hand, placing his palm on your forehead, then you began to see something you hadn't anticipated.

"Abel, what are you doing?" A man with black hair and pure blue eyes asked while he walked towards another man at the altar.

Abel was bowing down, muttering a prayer, ignoring his brother's question as he continued his form of worship.

"Abel, this is Blasphemy and you know it. You know God could kill you for this! Look at what He did to Mother and Father because of their disobedience!" Cain reached down and pulled Abel up from his worship and Abel glared at Cain.

"Must you interrupt everything I do, Brother? This is an important meeting! I can get us back into Eden!"

"Ahh, this must be the brother Cain you were speaking of, Dear Abel."

Cain's eyes widened as he heard the voice. It was the same voice his mother Eve had heard hen being tempted to eat the forbidden fruit. The same voice Adam and Eve both had warned their children to ignore.

"Abel this is madness. It was because of Lucifer that we they were cast out! The very reason why we never got to see the Garden and more than likely never will!" Cain tried to reason.

"Cain, I'm far from seeing the garden. I'm far from God's grace as it is. Let me do something to help the three of you go back to where you were always meant to be."

"Abel this is wrong. Turn back from this path. This is your very soul you're talking about! Are you really accepting that you could be cast down with the other angels that fell from Grace?"

"You brother is right, Abel. You will never get into Paradise; you're practically leaving all of your family behind. You'll belong to me for all of Eternity." Lucifer interjected.

Then an idea appeared in Cain's mind. He knew Abel was the favorite of the family. Most even believed Abel was God's favorite. He deserved to go into Paradise.

"Lucifer, let me offer myself in my brother's place. He's young and knows not the mistake he's making by even meeting with you at an alter built for God." Cain began and Abel shoved Cain's shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing? You're going to ruin everything!"

"Lucifer, please. He's a boy and doesn't deserve an eternal damnation. Take me in his place and find a way to get Abel into Heaven instead." Cain bargained.

There were a few moments of eerie silence before Lucifer spoke again.

"I'll accept this bargain. However there will need to be bloodshed." Lucifer finally spoke.

"You must be the one that send your brother into Heaven yourself."

Abel's stomach sank down to his feet at the words. What had he done? Maybe Cain was right? He should have never summoned Lucifer in the first place, and now not only would Abel have to die, but his own brother would have to kill him only to go to Hell for something Abel brought into this world.

"No, I can't be the one to do this." Cain said.

"If not, then an illness will kill him during the evening anyway and Abel will go to Hell despite your plea." Lucifer threatened.

Cain and Abel exchanged glances but Abel was the first to look away, "You don't have to do this. I've brought this upon myself."

"I have to. You deserve to be in Heaven with Mother and Father once they go. You had good intentions even if executed poorly." Cain spoke solemnly before the older brother looked at the reddened flames that personified Lucifer.

"I accept." Cain finally replied.

With that, the reddened flames parted to reveal the skull of a donkey, "Take the bones and manufacture a weapon of choice. This will be used to kill your brother."

Cain swallowed harshly before he walked to the alter and took the bones. He took the jaw bone then he got to work.

He took the jaw bone fragment and a rock to sharpen it the best that he could by grinding the rock against the bone, an attempt to sharpen it, hoping it would speed the process of Abel's death so he wouldn't feel so much pain. After that, Cain took the leather belt from around his waist and wrapped around the section of bone that would serve to be the handle.

Thus.. the First Blade had been created.

With a heavy heart, Cain stood up and he looked at his brother. Abel's jaw was clenched as he tried to put on a brave face.

"I'm sorry to do this, Brother.. but it's for your own good." Cain said and Abel held up a hand to pause Cain from speaking further.

"I've already said I've brought this upon myself. Though you should not be the one going to Hell for this." Abel continued and Cain gripped the handle of the new weapon.

"What's done is done, Abel. Once Mother and Father make it to Heaven.. let them know how much I'll miss them. They won't forgive me for what I'm about to do." Cain said and Abel gave Cain a saddened smile.

"Maybe not... But I do. And you'll need to learn to forgive yourself." Abel said and he walked over to Cain. He lifted his brother's hand that was holding the weapon and pulled it up to his chest.

"I'll explain my mistake once they arrive. Now please, if I'm not going to see the sun rise tomorrow, I'd rather it be by your hand." Abel insisted and Cain looked at his younger brother.

"Please.. close your eyes. I don't think I can do this if they're open." Cain insisted.

Then, with a nod, Abel's eyes closed and Cain plunged the weapon into Abel's chest. Abel let out a hiss in pain and gripped his brother's shoulder so tightly. Then he opened his eyes again to look at Cain one last time.

"I'm sorry to have forced your hand..." He admitted then he let out his final breath, dying in Cain's arms.

Cain gulped harshly as if holding back the emotions he was feeling before he laid Abel on the ground, knowing he would need to tend to the body later.

"Now... since that's finally finished. Now it is time for your end of the deal." Lucifer said and Cain had this unsettling feeling.

"A part of Abel's deal was that he would do something for me. This task is an important one to have and yes, it will come at a cost greater than killing just one person. You're much stronger than your brother, and you seem to be more of a soldier, a might soldier that I'll train you to become and you'll be the leader of a malicious army one day." Lucifer continued, though Cain hardly had the heart to listen to everything. He no longer had the choice to refuse whatever task Lucifer asked of him.

"There is a mark I will give you. Consider it a gift. It will make you stronger than you are now. And this gift will pass on to your direct offspring. They will inherit this gift and they will be stronger and your entire bloodline will last eons."

Whatever gift Lucifer was about to give Cain, he knew better than to know this would be anything good. And he knew he would never want this curse to pass on.

But before Cain could protest or voice his concerns, the reddened fire seemed to take on a life of its own and wrapped itself around one of his arms before one of the flames branded Cain's arm. Cain let out a cry in agony as the flames burned his skin, forming the very mark that would taint him and his actions for the rest of his life.

It was a tragic day as murder entered the world, just as the sin of disobedience had entered the world.

And Cain would forever be known as the Father of Murder from that point on.

As Abel let down his palm from your hand, you opened your eyes and you looked at him with shock.

The man in front of you.. He was your uncle. He was the reason why your father had the mark on his arm. The reason why you were stuck with it because Abaddon wanted to use you to kill Cain because he had killed the Knights of Hell.

"You.. If you hadn't made that deal-" You could feel the anger residing in you and the mark was beginning to ignite in you once again. Everything in you was feeling that human temptation to fall into your murderous ways.

"In your human state you would never be able to kill me. You don't have an angel blade, the First Blade, or any other weapon specializing in celestial slaughter. Think carefully." Abel warned you.

You closed your eyes and you turned away from Abel and pinched the bridge of your nose. You had to collect your thoughts. He was right, you couldn't kill him in this state, and even then you were trying not to fall back into those ways in the first place.

You owed that much to both Sam and Dean since they were the ones that gave you the chance to be human in the first place. After letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in the first place, you turned around to face Abel once more.

"What did you do? Come all this way to look for me or something? You didn't find me by coincidence." You told him.

"I know you're searching for a way to be rid the mark. You can't get rid of it. It's impossible. Otherwise Cain might've gotten rid of it a long time ago." Abel said to you and you shook your head.

"Cain didn't try hard enough. He didn't want to get rid of the mark badly enough. A third party has received the mark from Cain himself and he doesn't deserve such a curse, and I'm going to find a way to get him out of this mess because it's not his cross to bear. It's mine and Cain's."

Abel softened once more and he rubbed his temple. You could tell there was something formulating in his mind but he was hesitant to tell you.

"If you have something to say then spit it out. Otherwise I need to get back to work." After all, your day off from researching was pretty much shot and it'd been that way since you'd vomited before this encounter.

"You're looking into the Book of the Damned, yes?" Your eyes widened at his words, how did he know about that? And what did he know about the book?

"You need to be careful when you get your hands on this book. I don't know where it is but there are spells within that book that are more dangerous than you can imagine. You and your little friend should consider a different way to get that mark off his arm." He advised and you lifted a brow.

"What could be so dangerous about a few spells?"

"Y/N... There are things in this world that should never be discovered. Some things should remain hidden. The Book of the Damned, the First Blade, even Cain himself should've remained hidden."

"The book is only a few hundred years old. I'm older than that, you're ancient compared to it. When it was created there wasn't any world crushing disasters. It's been hidden this entire time and it's important that we find it because there might not be any other way to get the mark off him." You explained.

"Witchcraft can be just as deadly as some of the seals broken during the end times which your friends managed to stop somehow. There is a reason why witchcraft is a force to be reckoned with. If you do continue looking for this book, be aware that you will not be the only one looking for it. People would kill for it. Not all humans are kind and fragile. Some are monstrous and will sacrifice everything to get what they want."

You listened carefully and you wished that something this important would be just a little bit easier to handle. But you had made up your mind on this already. Even if you could get killed with this human form, you would be able to come back. But Dean deserved better than this curse, so you would do everything you could to spare him from this specific sort of Hell.

"Thank you for the words of caution, but he is a friend. He should not have meddled in things he didn't understand and I'll face the consequences for him." You said before you turned your heel and walked away.

Abel watched as you walked away before he shook his head before muttering under his breath.

"You're more like your father than you realize, child."

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @johannelis2302nely @justtrying2getby-blog @alternativeprincess94 @doctorlexilouwhosblog @deangirl96 @nancymcl @hobby27 @muhahaha303 @k-slla @winchestergirl2

[castiellesbian]

what you said about amvs definitely makes sense and I have thought the same thing!! There's a certain kind of literacy required to "read" them. I have a lot of vids that I want to show to a friend when we finish our 3+ year watch but I feel like they aren't going to hit as hard because a more casual fan isn't going to have the same level of familiarity with the text. Like sure, they should be able to understand the overall emotional beats and obvious visual gags but they are going to miss a lot. Like they will see a three second shot of Dean and Cas in a car and be like "okay they're in a car together, that happens a lot in the series" whereas I will look at it and immediately clock "okay that's when Dean says Cas is like a brother to them" and understand why that particular choice is both a hilarious joke and an illuminating meta point when paired with that particular lyric. And I can't even blame them for not getting it, there's over 300 episodes, I'M the weirdo here.

EXACTLY EXACTLYYYYY. like I think specifically what made me think about this was in orla's video when it shows the shot of dean in playthings after the "overcompensating" comment and like i'm not sure if a casual fan would immediately pick up on that since it's just showing dean smiling kind of sadly, but weeee knowww. and that it's played with the line "making love to a counterfeit" because that's dean's whole deal!!! like we have talked a lot at least in this corner of the fandom about how dean wears this mask to show a caricature of himself out of survival skills, and also how on a meta level chuck/the writers keep forcing him to wear that mask even after 15 years because that persona is more palatable to television. so while dean on a plot level is stilted in this angry personality even after the mark of cain storyline ends, it makes sense when you read it as a resentment of how his own character is being written. and the song "movies" really helps to highlight that, but i'm not sure if a casual fan would see it that way! which, like you said, i'm not blaming them for, but for me it's like getting rewarded for being a little weirdo

[bardicious]

Me thinking about the time Cas said he doesn't know anyone who's failed as much as Sam (he says, weirdly with love and admiration), like hmmmm, lets look at the record here.

Mary sells Sam's life so John can live.

John goes hunting the thing that killed Mary, dragging along his two very young boys, teaching them to be codependent and suicidal.

John leaves Dean and doesn't call him back (though he totally can) to hunt the yellow eyes himself. Sam and Dean start hunting again to find him.

John sells his soul so Dean can live (love him for that, but the chain of events, dude, come on)

Dean sells his soul so Sam can live (didn't learn nothing, lmao)

Dean breaks the first seal keeping Lucifer locked in the cage.

Sam attempts to sell his soul, doesn't work, falls to Ruby's manipulation while Dean is dead. She hooks him on demon blood that clearly has mood altering and addictive properties to him.

Castiel's continued loyalty towards the angels.

Castiel taking Jimmy Novak's body, not once but twice, horrifically.

Sam lies to Dean about his involvement with Ruby.

Sam and Dean both fall for Ruby's party line and sad backstory.

In general, Dean's treatment of Sam starting from s4. But I'll give this to Dean, in s4, Sam did not think Dean was strong enough to fight the good fight anymore, so an honest conversation without barbs would have done them both good.

Castiel opens the bunker door and lets a nearly detoxed Sam out, so he specifically can go kill Lilith.

Sam removes the last seal by killing Lilith, Lucifer is released.

Dean's on again off again refusal to fight "destiny".

Castiel just killing anyone that's a "threat" which just means "against him" lmao.

Bobby choosing to stay on the earthly plane despite knowing his spirit would only get angrier and more dangerous as time goes by.

Castiel bringing Sam back from the cage (positive), but not getting Sam's soul back (ouch), and then when the option to bring it back is there, he thinks it might be too "horrific" to do, disregarding that Sam without a soul isn't Sam at all. Just a walking talking body.

Castiel breaking down Sam's wall and letting Sam's trauma manifest to the surface.

Castiel working with Crowley, killing countless angels (maybe necessary, maybe not), letting the Leviathan in.

The way Dean treats Sam the first half of s8. Insane shit. Uncalled for. Bullshit.

Dean and Sam's general treatment of Kevin (I mean, I don't personally care about Kevin either, but fair's fair)

Dean refusing to let Sam close hell's gates to save Sam's life, even though Sam wants to die. Sam listens to him.

Dean refusing to watch Sam die, so he takes Sam's choice away (even though Sam already chose to die in peace) and let's a strange angel inhabit his brother's body by tricking him. Dean's decision ultimately gets Kevin killed and Sam a witness to horrible things his body did.

Dean leaves Sam after Sam is finally unpossessed by Gadreel.

Dean works with Crowley. Dean accepts the Cain mark to kill Abaddon.

Sam accepts the bozo back even though Dean didn't learn shit. lmao.

ALL the times Castiel runs off somewhere without explaining himself/telling the brothers anything.

Like, hmmmmm, I don't know Cas, there's a lot of you in there. And definitely a lot of Dean.

Also, healthy reminder:

Sam and Dean did NOT open hell's gates. That was Jake Talley.

Neither Sam or Dean were solely responsible for releasing Lucifer. And while they were technically "responsible" for the first and last seal being removed. They really weren't since it was all in the machinations of Heaven and Hell! Literally all of the Apocalypse was because of the angels and demons!!! And Castiel specifically having a hand in much of it.

Sam wasn't responsible for losing his soul. That was Cas' fuck up.

Sam never even wanted to be brought back to life, ever in his damn life.

Sam leaving to college was not a betrayal! Even if John and Dean feel it was.

Sam having demon powers isn't his fault either! Mary can sorta be blamed (not really tho), but realistically speaking? This is all on yellow eyes and Lucifer.

[dark-dragon-8]

Me writing a fic planner for my Supernatural fic series/AU and it slowly turning into a "try and keep as many of the characters you like and/or need for the plot to get where you want it to without it being too OOC and/or nonsensical all while still keeping your current ongoing plot relevant and have it make sense" challenge

Because ISTG people are dying 𝘸𝘢𝘺 too often in this show. I had to get creative with Sam's reactions and power limitations just to keep Crowley alive during that one scene Dean tried to kill him when they both first met him.

I had to give Sam a fucking aftershock from Dick Roman exploding so that he won't kill Crowley right then and there.

I know I'll need to find a way to keep Rowena and Charlie alive at some point in the future because they'll be killed off later on in the show and I can't have that.

I'll have to somehow keep Death alive (haha) too because I love him too much to let him go.

The only characters I plan on keeping dead so far are Bobby, Meg, John and everyone else who died in earlier seasons (besides maybe Jessica, but that's just because she's not as close to Sam in this AU)

Ellen and Jo will still be alive, though, since I'm not leaving the boys without a support system. Downside is that the two of them will be experiencing the death of their husband/father (respectively) all over again.

I'm keeping Balthazar alive too because I 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 Castiel to still have some sort of loyal subordinate/connection to Heaven.

At least Dean doesn't kill anyone (important), not yet at least (I just finished season 7) hopefully it stays that way because that man is pretty much the only one I don't have to keep on monitoring 24/7. He's honestly the most chill person in my fic when it comes to killing off plot devices, which is hilarious because I plan on making him a sadistic half demon that's kind of like the Antichrist once he gets the Mark of Cain (which was surprisingly the easiest plot twist I had to write, thanks to how I saw his demon self has been written, I swear he's the only one not killing everyone else around him just because).

I'm currently holding on by a thread of "Sam believing he's impure and therefore doesn't use his powers often" logic while also applying a good amount of "Sam uses his power in every single scenario in which he thinks Dean might be in danger" logic. It's a very stressful road and I swear to Chuck, if I didn't have an ending in mind, everyone would've been dead except for the (good) humans, and Sam would have been the culprit, maybe Castiel too, and Dean would've been surprisingly innocent (I know, it baffles me too).

I just realized, as I was writing this that maybe I just need Crowley to chill, but I can't write that because that would be character assassination of the highest degree (Crowley is a sassy drama queen and I'd rather die than take that away from him)

[charcubed]

Listen, I normally don’t condone when people are like “you’re not going to Get It unless you watch the show” because it tends to be a gatekeeping method, but… I really need people to understand that they’re not going to grasp how meta The Winchesters is as the Dean hall of mirrors show unless they watch it lmao.

The s1 finale has gotten a lot of attention for obvious reasons and there’s a lot to pay attention to in there, but it’s also heavily informed by the extremely thematically unsubtle 12 episodes that precede it. The show is like… an Experience to a batshit degree lol. Its existence is literally dedicated to comprehensively unpacking and condemning the SPN finale as bad. Dean speaks directly to you and tells you why his “ending” sucked and shows you what he wants and deserves for his future. It’s not Dean’s story, but also it IS Dean’s story because he’s telling it.

And I mean, if you need more convincing: it’s also fun as hell with found family right out of the gate, and they made 3 out of the core 4 characters bisexual (I am not joking), and pretty much every episode there’s some kind of emotional healing or catharsis, and the music fucks, and there’s actual consistency from episode to episode in remembering or naming minor characters and specific details from prior plots. Which is all extremely cool in my opinion!

If you decide to watch the show, here’s my advice for the things to keep in mind that will help you effortlessly clock its layers:

1. Every main character takes a turn on the spinning wheel of Dean mirrors in the storylines depending on the episode. There is no rule like “Mary is always the Dean mirror.” Sometimes Mary is the Cas mirror when John is a Dean mirror, for example. And I do mean every character, not just the core 4! It’s incessant. You will get used to this.

2. Our beloved narrator is canonically bisexual. Knowing this fact is a prerequisite to understanding a couple of the queer stories. Once again: I am not joking.

3. Think about Destiel. Yeah 15x18 but also Purgatory, Mark of Cain, widower arc…

4. Think about Dean’s relationship with his parents.

5. And think about how Dean himself is a parent, and his relationship with Jack.

6. And, of course, think about Chuck. (This will not take much effort. Multiple antagonists are gods. Yes, really.)

It is very loud and very consistent. Come for all of the above; stay for how you will fall in love with the characters!

I simply think you will have a good time :) and then you will truly be able to Comprehend and go recreationally insane :)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - It's Not Enough

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, angst, light smut, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh, kind of sick Dean? You'll see.

Summary/Warnings: You confront Dean, and the betterlust starts to become a problem. Usual Warnings, little extra angst.

Author's Note: Welcome to feelings town, USA, population 3 (Dean, Her, and us)

Chapter title from Untouched by The Veronicas

Word Count: 6.5k

Read on A03!

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

You haven’t seen Sam in three days. He’d walked out of the garage and seemingly vanished, not present at dinner, or in the library, or the Dean Cave. You’d poked your head into his room the next morning, frowned around the empty space, and felt your heart almost stop when you’d realized his bag was gone. His bag, and gun, and phone, and—as you’d learned after shifting through his dressers—enough clothing for at least a week. Later, after you’d told Dean, you’d noticed that he’d taken one of your spare, stolen cars with him.

“I mean,” you’d run your hand over the roof of a disgustingly expensive Jaguar—stolen because you had been certain the owner wouldn’t miss it—and sighed. “At least I was right.”

When you’d turned to look at Dean—practically hovering over your body—he’d just been staring at you. You’d raised your brows and nudged his shoulder with yours, and he’d blinked like you’d just shaken him out of a dream.

“Right, uh,” He’d rubbed where you’d touched him, looking between you and the car. “Right about what?”

“The cars. I’d said they’d be useful, so me and Sam could drive without taking the impala.”

He’d chuckled. “Sure, Sweetheart.”

“I was right-“

“Hey,” Dean had raised his hands in surrender. “I said sure-“

“No, you said sure.” You drop your voice to mimic his tone, holding his innocent expression with a glare, and he shrugs.

“I’m not really seein’ the difference-“

You’d rolled your eyes and turned back to the car. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

He’d taken a step closer—suddenly pressed right against your back—and his voice had been low and gravely and wholly unhelpful in your ear. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t hear your own voice, Dean.” You’d mumbled, keeping all your attention on the glint of light off the paint. “I can. That’s your sure when you’re, um…”

You’d trialed off, and his hand had somehow moved to your chin, turning you to face him. “When I’m what.”

“Making fun of me?” You’d said it breathless, like a question, and Dean’s nostrils had flared.

“Well then.” He’d muttered, and you could’ve sworn he’d looked down at your lips. “Lemme make it clear, Sweetheart. I wasn’t makin’ fun, you were right. Real helpful.”

He’d lingered there for a second—long enough to make the air electric, long enough for you to wonder if this was just a really weird dream—then jerked back, leaving you a little hollow and sunken and bitter.

But he hadn’t left.

He wouldn’t leave.

You haven’t seen Sam since the garage. Dean didn’t seem worried—which was incredibly worrying within itself—and you know Sam’s a least alive, because he texted you twice a day.

Not dead. Back soon.  

Tell me if Dean does anything weird.

You might have looked for him. Called him and made him tell you what the fuck possessed him just up and leave you here, tell you where the hell he was, demand to know why he wasn’t helping you deal with this. Deal with Dean, who was doing everything weird. Not chasing after or calling Sam, not trying to find another case, not leaving the bunker for anything.

Not leaving you for anything.

Because it’s been three days, and you haven’t stopped seeing Dean.

He’s with you all the time. Behind you, across from you, at your side, always touching you just a little. A hand on your shoulder or back, fingers brushing your skin or poking your arm, a foot pressed against yours under the table. Following you around like he’s a bodyguard and you’re in grave danger, sitting wherever you sit and eating whenever you eat. Standing outside of the bathroom when you go and refusing to acknowledge your questioning looks, walking you to bed every night—but refusing to ever actually look at or enter your room—and waiting for you in the kitchen every morning.

He’s always waiting for you in the kitchen. Already up and shuffling around, and you’re not quite sure he’s actually sleeping, because when you see him his skin is a little sallowed, and his eyes are heavy with bags, and he leans on the counter like his knees feel weak. Dean looks sick, every single morning, and every morning you wonder if you’d imagined it. Because his eyes meet yours and suddenly he’s full of color. Flashing you a smile and saying teasing words, no longer the hollow, deadened man you’d just seen. When you walk in he looks like an animal or husk, and then seconds later he looks like Dean.

And you’re so confused.

Sam’s gone, doing Sam things. Dean’s not avoiding you anymore, but there’s clearly something up with him, and nobody will give you a straight answer for what the fuck is going on. You’d even texted Rowena to see if she could look at the spell again, and never gotten a response back. Not even a fuck off, Dearie, I know how to do my job.

It must be the spell. It’s the only logical explanation. Rowena fucked up the spell—and she knows it, which is why she won’t respond to you—and now Dean’s trapped on you for some reason. Maybe he’s feeding the Mark with things you want—him—because Rowena had used your hair, and she wasn’t supposed to do that. It must be why Sam’s gone, to track down Rowena and get her to fix this.

And you should be ill with concern. You should be consumed by doubt about why no one trusts you with this, and drowning in worry for Dean, for what this means for him.

But you’re selfish. Dean is talking to you and smiling at you and touching you, and you’re so confused as to why, but you never want it to end. You never want Dean look anywhere else again, or guide anyone else through another door, or smirk and wink at a face that isn’t yours.

Towards the end of the third day, you don’t think you’re going to be strong enough to find out what’s going on. It’ll crumble this perfect illusion of Dean really, at least in some way, wanting you. Destroy this world where he’s lounging at you side in the Dean cave, he’s pulled your legs over his, and he’s rubbing the skin of your calf like that’s just something he does. Like it’s not something you’ve dreamed of, something that’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life when Sam fixes this and it’s gone forever.

You have to ask him what’s going on now, before you get lost in a drunken haze of this perfect moment and forget your sworn duty. Help Dean. Sitting with Dean isn’t helping him. Feeding your own desire isn’t helping Dean. Indulging a fucked-up spell isn’t helping Dean.

So you push up slightly, bracing yourself on flat palms, and clear your throat.

Dean looks over to you with a drawn brow. “What’s up, Sweetheart?”

He can’t keep calling you Sweetheart like that. The same way he’s always said it, but deeper. Richer. Like there’s something you’ve never noticed in the word that’s suddenly bigger.

“I, um,” you swallow as he scans over your face, and force the words out of your mouth like vomit. “I need to know. I can’t keep, um, I don’t want to just sit here. I need you to tell me. Tell me the truth, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong-“

“Don’t lie!” You almost yelp, and he might have flinched. “I know you’re trying to like, protect me from it or something, but don’t. I’m fine, I’m a big girl, I can handle it, I can help, you just need to tell me how.” You lean forward, your voice becoming almost a plea. “Please, Dean, tell me how-“

“You can’t.” He snaps, and it’s firm but not loud. Tired but not angry. It’s worse. “Don’t bother.”

“Dean-“

“I said-“

“I know what you said!” You shake your head, growing a little frantic. “You said I ‘can’t’, which means there is something, and you won’t tell me! Dean, please tell me-“

“No.” He grunts, something heated in his eyes as they bore straight into you. “Drop it.”

“I can’t.” You try and pull your legs away, and his hold on you tightens. “Just, at least tell me why you won’t tell me!”

The room fall into a long, heavy, weighted silence as Dean just stares at you. He’s squeezing on your calf, and his jaw keeps clenching like he’s fighting the words in his mouth.

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to cover his. “Please.”

His eyes shoot to your hands, his grip like iron, and he looks almost feral. Like he’s afraid of your touch, or caught in a trap, or something’s about to snap in his body.

But you try to pull back, guilt eating at the edges of your every nerve, and he holds you there. You can hear his breathes, see the tension in his body, and when he speaks it sounds painful. Growled and strained and pushed through teeth.

“I’m handling it.” He mutters, still staring at your hands. “Got a hold on it. You,” he lets out a long, slow exhale, and his hold on you loosens slightly. “Just, it’s not dangerous. Nothin’ for you to do.”

“But why won’t you tell me-“

“Cause.” His jaw twitches. “I can’t. That’s it.”

“Can’t?” You mumble. “Or won’t?”

He shakes his head, drawing another circle on your skin. “Both.”

He’s not going to move on this. Dean won’t meet your eyes, but he also won’t stop touching you, and he’s one of the most stubborn assholes you’ve ever met. If he’s not going to tell you, you probably couldn’t waterboard it out of him.

But you were right. Something is wrong, and Dean won’t tell you what. He’s almost certainly told Sam, but he hasn’t told you. Because you’re not Sam. You’re not someone he loves, or someone he implicitly trusts. He doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you, doesn’t think you could help. And it’s igniting something that stings behind your eyes, sets something heavy and choked inside your throat.

You can’t look at him. If you look at Dean, fully look at him, he’ll look handsome and sad and angry, and you’ll give in. You’ll stay here, where you’re not really wanted, and eat your own worry and fear and love until you know how to pretend that this is fine. That you don’t feel so small and useless, that Dean didn’t just take a bite out of your heart and leave you a little emptier than before, without even knowing.

He doesn’t want you to help him. He may even think you can, but it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t going to let you.

And you can’t stay here or you’ll start crying, and he’ll think you’re weak and emotional. Or worse, he’ll try to comfort you. He’ll ask why you look like he’s kicked you in the gut, and you’ll have to lie to him.

You don’t want to lie to Dean. Not right now. He’s lying to you, but you can’t lie to him. You’ve never even been able to stomach lying to Dean. It’s always make you feel itchy and sick, and right now you already feel so terrible that lying to Dean might make you vomit.

“Okay.” You whisper, tugging your legs away, and this time he lets you. “I got it.”

He says your name as you stand up, and he sounds like he’s in pain, and you can’t look at him to check. “Where are you going?”

“Bed.” You turn away, and every step to the door is mechanical and forced. “I’m tired.”

Dean’s silent behind you. He doesn’t call after you, or chase you down the hall, or even say goodnight. He just lets you go.

You don’t think he knows he had you in the first place. You don’t think he knows that, if he grabbed your arms and asked you to stay, you would’ve. If he apologized, you’d forgive him before he was even done speaking. He’s done worse than this. You fought over less, and forgiven him for more.

But he doesn’t seem to be seeking your forgiveness. And you still have enough pride to not demand it of him. To not stomp back into the room and either scream at him like a scorned lover, or crawl on your knees and beg him to tell you. Either way you’d make a total, desperate, pleading fool of yourself, and right now your dignity—or your fake mask of dignity—is all you have left.

So you’ll hide until this passes. Until Sam gets back, and Dean gets better, and you can all pretend nothing ever happened in the first place. You’ll spiral into thoughts of what could be wrong, and busy yourself with things that don’t quiet the voice in your head. The one that keeps hissing why would he have ever trusted you, you’re not that important, and you’ll force yourself think about anything but Dean. You’ll get ready for bed and not worry about if Dean will even sleep tonight. You’ll shower and try to deny yourself of the usual fantasy’s where Dean’s under the water with you, and he’s grinning at you as you fall to your knees for him in the steam.

Then he would carry you to bed, keeping you wrapped in a towel after he’d insisted on drying you off. He’d set you down on the mattress—which suddenly feels far too big and far too lonely—and crawl over your body, with a smug, annoying grin that’s far too innocent for the predatory look of hunger in his eyes. He’d kiss you all over your face until you’re giggling, and then press his palm against your core and you’d make a loud, needy gasp as he moved to nip and kiss at your breasts-

There’s a knock at your door, and you have to a long unsteady breath to clear your head. You’d somehow ended up with your back flat on the bed, your own hand between your thighs as you’d lost yourself in the empty dream of Dean wanting you, just like you’d sworn not to. You can’t speak right now, not until you’ve stopped grinding against your own fingers, stopped arching off the bed, stopped thinking about Dean’s pretty, full mouth wandering over your skin, moving lower, sucking on your clit and tongue fucking you until you screamed his name-

There’s another knock, and this time you hear your name. Grumbled through the door as Dean’s shadow shifts around outside your room, cruelly not leaving until you answer.

“What, Dean.” Your voice is flatter than you’d meant it to be, but you are tired, and if you use emotion you’ll cry or scream. And you really don’t want to do either right now.

“Are you, uh, you gonna open the door?”

He sounds uncertain, and you sigh as you push off the mattress and. You could say no. You don’t want to say no.

“What.” You yank open the door with a glare, and your mouth almost falls open as you take him in. He looks horrible. In an hour his skin has turned gray, his eyes bloodshot, and his lips are in a thin, tight line.

Any anger you’d felt vanishes in one, sharp breath.

“Jesus, Dean, are you-“

“Look, I know I don’t have the right to, but I gotta just ask-“

“Dean-“

“Can I sleep in here?” He scratches the back of his neck, his words barely a mumble as he stares at the floor. “Please.”

You blink at him in surprise. You’ve slept in the same room—even the same bed—as Dean countless times. In cheap motels when you couldn’t afford two rooms, on stiff mattresses when the only other choice was an oddly stained couch. But never at the bunker, where you all get your own rooms, and comfortable beds, and personal space. Dean’s never even been in your room. He’s knocked on your door to grab you for dinner or a last-minute hunt, staring stubbornly at the floor like he is now, remaining a solid step from the threshold like even a toe in your room would kill him.

He’s at the mantle of the door now. Still refusing to meet your eyes, still tense, but also braced like he’s waiting for permission. And you know, if you slammed the door in his face, he’d shuffle away

And you’re a selfish, lovesick dumbass, so instead of kicking him out with his tail between his legs, you look over him wearily and ask, “Why?”

“I, uh,” he glances up at you, and makes a face as if you’d shot him, his voice dropping to a low mumble. “Wanna. If you’re still pissed, I get it, but I just-“ He takes a step back, looking more and more sick by the second. “You know what, forget it. Stupid idea-“ 

You catch his arm, and he freezes, staring at you with something like fear in his eyes.

“I didn’t say no.” You say, because you’re a helpless dumbass, and maybe this is how he needs you. Dean isn’t good at asking for things, or apologizing, or saying please, and the fact that he’d even done one of those things tells you he means it. You can kick his ass for being such a weird dick later, when this is fixed. Right now he looks like he’s on death’s door, and if this is all he can offer you, you’ll take it.

And that’s pathetic and desperate and probably not that healthy.

And you don’t care. Dean lets you guide him into your room, over to your bed, and he won’t stop staring at you, so you don’t care. You’re not speaking, but you don’t feel like you need to. He’s listening to you in the silence of your movements, laying down when you push slightly at his chest, pulling his sheets up when you hand them to him, and waiting for you as you flip off the lights and round the mattress to your side. When you rest your hand over his, he laces your fingers together and doesn’t go further.

You don’t know how long you lay there, staring at the ceiling and holding Dean’s hand. He coughs after what might have been a minute or a year, moving his thigh to press to yours under the covers, and you don’t think before you give into his silent request. Rolling on your side so you’re facing him, where you find him already staring at you. He looks better. There’s more color on his face, less taut strain on his shoulder, and when he speaks his voice is still low, but less hoarse.

“I can’t tell you what’s goin’ on,” he mutters your name, squeezing your hand. “But you gotta trust me. It’s for your own good.”

You sigh, and give him a sad, soft smile. “It’s not.”

He says your name again, almost as a warning, and you shake your head, holding his gaze.

“Don’t argue, Dean. You know it’s not. But I’m tired of fighting.” You scoot a little closer, and—in the bravest move of your life—drop your head against his chest. “So I forgive you.”

You can’t hear his breathing. He’s stiff against you, and for a second you think you’d fucked up. Made him uncomfortable, made whatever the fuck is happening come to an abrupt end. And you don’t understand this at all, but you know you don’t want it to stop. Ever.

So when Dean, wraps his arm over your body, keeping you against him in the dark, relief explodes through you like a bomb. It’s a brief, hazy moment where it’s just you and Dean in the dark, and he’s touching you like you’re more than a body, more than a friend, more than important. Touching you like you’re an anchor. A cure.

It—combined with Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, and his hand cradling your head—lulls you to an easy sleep, and sparks dreams where Dean touches you like this for a long, long time.

And you’ve really, truly forgiven him.

But you’re not sure how you’re going to live once this goes away.

——————

Dean didn’t know where he was. It was his room, and every motel in America, and his car. Blurred and melded together, so familiar and simple and Dean’s.

Everything in here was Dean’s. The leather bench he was sitting on, the clothing tossed on the floor around him, his mattress across the room. Her.

She was here. She was naked on the bed, waiting on her knees for Dean with a smile, and so damn hot something inside him was going to explode.

And Dean didn’t know what the hell was going on.

The room kept changing. A pair of boots he’d lost years ago on a hunt were near the door, and then gone. Gone with the door. The wallpaper kept shifting between solid colors and floral patterns and stripes, and then he was in Baby, but still in his room, and the ceiling was a roof. There was wind in his face but no windows, and wheel in his hands for only a second before it was gone. He was on the impala’s bench, then in a wooden chair, then on the bed. Next to Her.

She kept changing too. Her skin was clean one moment, then covered in dirt the next. Her hair was longer, then shorter, then tangled and natty before being well-groomed and framed around Her face. She was naked, but in a strange way where Dean couldn’t actually see her body. The space between Her legs was smooth like a doll, and her boobs were just as amazing as always, but blurred at the nipple. Odd patches of Her body seemed to be covered in static, and Her hands moved in a strange, impossible way, and everything felt off.

But Her face was as gorgeous as it always was. And she was looking at Dean like she always did. With bright eyes and smile that Dean knew could fall so quickly, with something harsher behind her features that Dean had learned not to unleash, and something odd he could never figure out.

She said something Dean couldn’t hear, and his mouth moved like a puppet, saying something back he didn’t understand. She seemed to like it, though, because She laughed and crawled onto Dean’s lap.

She was on his lap. She was under him. She was on her knees.

She was on her knees, and She was touching Dean. Palming him through his jeans, watching him with wide, soft eyes and a smile, taking his cock into Her mouth and moving like she’d done it before. Like She was every great blowjob he’d ever had, but still just her. Those were Her lips wrapped around Dean like he was a popsicle, and his hand was in Her hair, guiding her up and down as she moaned and whined and started to grind onto the air.

Her fingers playing with his balls. Her tits between his cock, before it was suddenly Her mouth again, then her hand, then just her tongue. Licking over the head of him before her teeth grazed the base.

It was Her voice, however muffled and faraway, that whimpered his name around his cock. Her eyes that fluttered when he hit the back of Her throat.

Her mouth Dean came in, and her nails that dug into his thighs as he face-fucked Her through his orgasm. He was high and spinning and dying and so alive, he didn’t know where he was, but he knew he’d never come down. She was so good, she’d touched him, and everything was fucking awesome, and Dean’s whole body felt limp and wired as Her hand pumped him through the last of his release.

And it was Her thumb that swiped a dribble of cum off Her chin. Her lips that closed around that same thumb and sucked Dean off her skin.

He had to touch Her. Dean needed to touch Her, to hold her and make her come apart like that. To knead on Her skin and kiss between her breasts, to shove his fingers deep inside Her at make her unravel, to see if she’d feel even better when it was Her pussy wrapped around his cock instead of her mouth-

Dean’s eyes snapped open, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He could barely move or think or speak. His eyes were open but filled with black spots and everything was in a painful blur. His blood was burning and heavy in his body, but his skin felt like white-hot ice, and he could taste the salt of sweat falling from his brow.

He could smell it, smell how he was drenched in that same sweat over his body, could feel how the linen sheets tangled over his body felt made him feel like he was being crushed under a mountain. Dean could taste how something foul like bile was up his throat and over his tongue and filling his nose like blood. It clouded over something sweet fruity and familiar, something that he needed to fucking devour before all his muscled seized up and his heart pounded out of his chest.

The better smell came from something he was clinging to like a goddamn teddy bear. It was firmer and warmer than the sheet, but didn’t hurt or ache to touch. It didn’t need to be tangled against Dean’s body, because it fit against him easily, molded into his hold and shifting in shallow movements, and smelling so good. Sugary and a little sour, slightly artificial but natural in Dean’s nose, and he couldn’t place it over the fog eating at his brain, but he needed it-

He inhaled deeply, a little of his vision cleared, and felt a weight drop into his lungs when he realized what he was smelling.

Cherries. Her hair was a little in his face, and it was Her body in Dean’s arms, and he was fucked. The betterlust had an iron grip on his whole body, so he could only see if he was looking at Her, only breath when he buried his face in her hair—like a fucking creep—and only move if it was to touch Her. She was knocked the hell out, and Dean wouldn’t be able to leave the bed until she woke up and he could trail after her wherever she went.

Then he remembered their fight, remembered that She might not want him near her, and it was like a stab right into his gut. Ripping through is organs and tearing a low groan from his chest, because he was a fucking idiot and now she probably hated him. He was only in here because She’d pitied him, and Dean didn’t want her pity. He just wanted Her.

He couldn’t have Her. Especially not now, when she was probably sick of him and his bullshit. When She’d left him, and he’d deserved it. He’d make the same choice again—if Dean told Her how she could help him, She’d do it out of obligation and he’d lose her forever—but that didn’t make him any less of a dick. If he was a better, stronger man none of this would be a problem. He’d be able to sit next to Her and not only think about how gorgeous she’d look under him or straddling him or with his cock in her mouth-

Another flash of pain cracked over his bones, and he couldn’t move but he had to. All the betterlust wanted was Her, and Dean couldn’t have Her, but it didn’t seem capable of getting the memo. Dean could either have Her, or die.

So he was done. He’d never be able to live with himself if he made Her do that. His own love for Her was just stronger than the betterlust, and it was telling him that She deserved better than him. That Dean couldn’t offer Her anything good, and if Dean hurt Her he might as well do the betterlust’s job for it. At least this way She’d mourn him instead of remembering him as a monster. It was the last thing Dean had managed to keep from Her, how truly horrible he was, had been, was doomed to be. How the only lines he’d never crossed were the unforgivable, unjustifiable ones.

And he wouldn’t cross them now. Even as he felt another tear carve over his brain, Dean would make sure he was put down like the feral dog he was.

Over the ringing in his ears, Dean could hear his phone. The sound was muffled in his pants, and the only thing that allowed him to grab it was the knowledge that, if he didn’t, the buzzing would wake Her up.

He managed to roll over to answer the call, not bothering to look at the ID and forcing words through his teeth.

“Who is this.” 

“It’s Sam? Your brother?” Sam sounded concerned through the static of the speaker. That didn’t matter. Lately, Sam always sounded concerned.

“What.”

“That’s it? Just what? No questions about where I’ve been-“

“Sam, I’m not in the fucking mood for this-“

“Why?” Sam was suddenly urgent, his voice sounding a little further away. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” Dean grunted, glancing over his shoulder to where She was still asleep. “Don’t feel great, but I’ve had worse. It’s fine, Sammy, go back to your secret mission.”

He was lying. Dean had been through a lot of shit, but he’d never died slowly like this, with the cure only a foot away and unable to be taken. And Sam must have heard it in his voice or something, because the little shit pushed on.

“Dean, do you feel sick?”

“Just the flu or somethin’, it’ll be fine-“

“What about your, uh,” There was a pause, something shuffling around on Sam’s end before he spoke again. “Your stomach? Have you thrown up?”

He had. Last night after She left, he’d heaved over the toilet until he was spitting up bile.

“I’ve got the flu, dude, I’m gonna throw up-“

“How does your head feel-“

“Like shit, but I’m fine-“

“Do you have a fever?”

Dean rolled his eyes, and it was getting harder and harder to speak, let alone answer dumb questions. “How the hell would I know, I’m not a thermometer-“

Sam said Her name, and he might as well have shot Dean in the heart. “You can ask her-“

“No.” Dean snapped, lowering his voice to a hiss. “We’re not involving her in this, Sam, that’s it-“

“Because you love her. And you can’t stay away from her right now.”

Dean almost cracked his jaw. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting at-“

“Did you guys get in a fight?”

“Watch it-“

“Dean.” Sam sounded exhausted, his long sigh buzzing in the speaker. “Please. Just answer the question, and you can beat me up when I get back.”

If he was stronger, Dean would’ve told Sam to shove it and hung up. But he wasn’t positive he’d make it until Sam got back, let alone be in any condition to kick his ass. And he couldn’t stand the thought of one of his last conversations with his brother being all lies and anger. Dean was getting really sick of lies and anger.

“We got into it last night,” he muttered. “She must’ve figured out somethin’ was up. She asked to help, and I told her no.”

“Why did you-“

“Because I’m not that much of a fucking asshole.” Dean rolled onto his back, running his hand over his face. “I’m not gonna, I don’t know, coerce her into fucking me-“

“But that would help.”

Dean thought it would. It probably would. There weren’t a lot of ways out of this, but that seemed to be one of them. And it was only slightly less impossible than the other one.

Not that it mattered. Dean wouldn’t, couldn’t, have either of them.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean muttered. “I’m not doin’ that, Sam.”

“Okay. Is that enough?”

Dean frowned. “Enough for wh-“

“More than enough, Samuel.” Rowena cut Dean off through the phone. “You could’ve stopped the poor boy when he almost started whining after you said her name.”

“Sam.” Dean growled, his grip on the phone white knuckled. “Why the hell am I talking to Rowena.”

“Well, Dearie, your dear brother is quite worried about you and the little spell we did, and I wanted to check and make sure you were, as Samuel put it, being a fucking dumbass-“

“Rowena, just,” Sam sighed again, and his voice became a little clearer. Dean must have been taken off speakerphone. “Look, Dean, I know you. If what Rowena told me is right, you probably feel like death right now, and-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted. “Even if I do feel like I’m bein’ ripped open and stuffed with fucking spikes, I’m not gonna-“

“I know. I’m not going to tell you to. You just gotta hang on until we get back, and we’ll fix this.”

Dean swallowed, turning his head to watch Her as he spoke. “Fix it how.”

Sam sighed. “Reverse it.”

“No, Sam, I’m not goin’ back to before-“

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, man, but we’ve got two options. Rowena undoes this, or you tell her.”

“I’m not telling her-“

“Then Rowena’s undoing this.” Sam’s voice became almost stern, still lined with exhaustion, and Dean felt even more like a piece of shit. “That’s all we’ve got, Dean. We’re heading out now, don’t die until we get back. Okay?”

“Fine.” Dean held back a wet, painful cough because that probably wouldn’t help anyone. “See you.”

He hung up the phone before Sam could, and stared at the ceiling until his gaze blurred once more and everything faded into a haze. Moving in and out of darkness, the only sign of any rest being how he’d suddenly be on his stomach, or side, or under the sheets. Feeling worse and worse and worse until it was all just horrible, stabbing, blinding pain.

Then he was holding Her again. And when the world came back into focus Her pretty eyes were on his, her face barely an inch away, and something loosened over Dean’s throat.

“Dean?” She whispered, and she sounded so sad, it made Dean’s heart twist. “You’re hot.”

His tongue was loosen by the betterlust, and his judgment was washed in a craving for Her, and he was high on cherries and shea butter and something awesome he’d never smelled before—but he’d also never been this close to Her before—so Dean wasn’t able to stop his own stupid mouth from grinning at Her like a lovesick, drunken idiot.

“You’re hot.”

She flushed, and Dean was barely conscious enough to register why Her lips were slack and her eyes were wide. “What?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled, his hand drifting up Her back without a thought. “What’d you say?”

“I said you’re hot, Dean.” Her hand moved to rest over Dean’s brow, and he might have moaned. “Jesus, you’re burning.”

“Huh.” Dean moved his own hand to cover Her’s, keeping it against his skin and never breaking her gaze. “Damn.”

“Dean-“

“You smell good,” he blurted, because there didn’t seem to be anything left to stop him. He felt faint and hollow and buried, and the betterlust wouldn’t let up until Dean really touched Her, so all his willpower had to go into not fucking touching her. “And I like, uh, your mouth. ’S nice.”

“You,” She shook her head, her brows knitting as she scans over Dean’s face. “What?”

“I like your mouth. And your voice. You got a nice voice,” Dean slurred out Her name, and he wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. “Sounds good. Like whiskey.”

“My voice sounds like whiskey-“

“Uh huh,” he nodded, strange little lights starting to cloud his vision. “And a pie.”

“I’m gonna go call Sam-“

“No!” He was still lucid enough to keep Her hand against his forehead, to keep Her here. At his side, before he went. “Stay.”

“Dean, you look terrible-"

“You look pretty.” Dean couldn’t see Her, but She sounded worried. She was always really pretty when she was worried. “Don’t go.”

She sighed, somewhere near his cheek. “I have to. If you won’t tell me how to help you, I need to get someone who can-“

“You can help.”

There was silent for a long moment, and then a sharp, “What do you mean I can help.”

“Could make it better.” Dean let himself roll a little further into Her touch, because it kept him conscious just a little longer. “You make everything better.”

“Dean, I need you to tell me what to do, now-“

“Nah.“

“Dean Winchester,” Her other hand was on his cheek now, slapping him lightly. “I swear to fucking God if you don’t-“

Her voice faded into a sweet, calm song in the background, and Dean didn’t feel well. She sounded pissed. She was pretty when she was pissed too. She was always pretty, and Dean really didn’t feel good.

There was one more thing he had to say. Something that always lived on the back of his tongue, and was finally fighting its way to his teeth. Something he had to tell Her, had to do, or there was no chance he wouldn’t end up in something worse than hell when he was done.

He murmured Her name, and everything stopped. It was just Her hands on his cheek and brow, Dean’s own ragged breath, and silence as he dragged everything he had left to the surface to look at Her. Really look at Her.

She looked beautiful, but she also seemed ill. And worried. Maybe after this She’d never have to be worried again.

This was probably a dick move, if Dean’s really headed where he thinks he is. But the betterlust demands he say it, and maybe this small offering of something will keep him alive a few hours longer. To see Sam.

“Love you,” Dean told Her. Whispered to Her. Breathed at Her. She might not have heard it, so he said it again, starting with Her name. “I love you.”

If She responded, Dean didn’t hear it. The pound of his blood in his ears became overwhelming, and he could only taste rot, and something pulled him up into warmth and cherries and whiskey as his vision went white.

He hoped She’d heard it.

He hoped She remembered how Dean loved her, and not how he’d been such a fucking dick.

Dean really hoped, when this was done, She’d smile again knowing he’d loved her, and never have to worry again.

End Note: I'd apologize for this one, but I'm not sorry. Trust it'll pay off BIG TIME next chapter.

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Aftershock

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: The after-effects of taking the Mark creep in slowly and you’re not sure if taking it on was the best thing for you. Dean once had it so you go to him in hopes he might have tips on how to manage the anger you know you’ll experience.

Past, Present, and Future Masterlist

Square Filled: "Did you forget who you're talking to?" (crossover bingo) for @fandombingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“What, in your head, told you that taking on something like the Mark of Cain was a good idea? Do you realize what could happen?”

“I know, Stephen, but Dean and Sam needed me. What was I supposed to do? Let them suffer?”

“No, you were supposed to use rational thought.”

“What do you want me to do now? You have magic. Take it off me.”

“It’s not that simple.” Stephen turns and curses under his breath. “Let me figure this out. This is exactly why I didn’t want you going off on your own.”

“I’m not a child, Stephen,” you glare.

“Your action proves otherwise.”

Stephen told you to stay close but there is one place you want to be at, and it’s nowhere near New York. He’s a smart man. He’ll find a way to get you out of this before something bad happens. The Mark is starting to mess with your head so you go to the one person who might understand how to make you feel better.

You don’t knock and sneak inside the same way you did when you first entered the Bunker. There is noise coming from the kitchen where Dean is, and his back is turned to you as he does the dishes. He doesn’t notice you standing there until he turns to grab two dirty dishes off the kitchen island.

“Shit!” he jumps. “What are you doing here? You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble and scratch your arm absentmindedly.

“Are you okay? Are we okay? Tell me we didn’t do anything bad.”

“No, everything is okay, still. How is Sam doing?”

“Okay. He doesn’t remember much from his time as a demon albeit it short. He thinks it’s from the stress. I don’t know.”

“That’s good,” you nod, distracted.

“Is everything okay?”

“I need you to be honest with me.” He doesn’t say anything but patiently waits for you to continue. “How was life with the Mark?”

“Honestly? A nightmare. I was angry all the time. I was lashing out at people, and I had the urge to kill anything in sight. The Mark is a curse. It wants you to feed it with power. It never stopped… itching.” Dean looks at your hand scratching the arm your mark is on. “Kind of like what you’re doing now.”

“I feel bad for what I did to you and Sam which is why I took this mark. Now… I’m trying really hard not to let it affect my powers.”

Dean dries his hands and leaves the remaining dirty dishes in the sink before grabbing your hand.

“Come on. I have something that might help you with that.” He takes you down to the shooting range where everything is stocked and ready to use. “Have you ever shot a gun?”

“I have a powerful infinity stone on my wrist. Does it look like I need to shoot a gun?”

“Don’t be rude,” he says. “It’s always a good skill to have and right now, you’re going to learn.”

Dean grabs one of the smaller guns and stands behind you. You’re about to turn to face him when he puts one of his warm hands on your waist. Something blossoms in your stomach like tiny little glitters floating around. He pulls you into his wait and those glitters explode into butterflies. What is this feeling? Why do I like it so much?

Dean wraps his arms around your body and puts the gun in your hands with his on top of yours. He positions you where he needs you and removes his hands from your own but keeps them on your body.

“Focus on the target ahead of you. Aim and follow through. When you’re ready, pull the trigger.”

You aim the gun at your target and much like what you do with your powers, you focus on your target alone. You pull the trigger and shoot the target right between the eyes.

“You’re a natural,” he grins.

He runs his hands down your arms to your waist and settles on your hips. Your breathing picks up slightly and it’s not from the anxiety you feel. You hate this—not Dean this—the Mark this. You were always calm and collected, and you never lost your cool because you knew you were so much higher than mere humans. Call that arrogance but you never had a reason to feel things like anxiety, anger, and lust.

Just another thing this damn mark did you.

You turn in Dean’s arms so you’re less than a foot away from his face. He glances down at your lips before looking into your eyes.

“I don’t think this will work. Do you have something else to try?”

“Yeah, follow me.”

He pauses for two seconds before moving away from you. You see the hesitation in his eyes and you’re not sure if it’s hesitation for you or what you two are about to do next.

He takes you upstairs to the library where his precious mini bar is. After six months in the Bunker, he bought a mini bar on wheels where he keeps his good alcohol. He rolls the bar over to one of the tables and sits down before putting his feet up. You sit across from him and he leisurely pours you two a drink.

“I read alcohol isn’t the best when you have bottled up emotions on the internet.”

“Don’t listen to everything you read online.” He slides you a half-poured whiskey drink without ice. “Sip, don’t chug.” You grab the glass and take a small sip not expecting it to taste like shit. “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste.”

“Oh, God,” you cough.

“Never had alcohol before, huh?”

“I may have been born before time but I’m fairly young. Stephen only made me a person a few years ago.” Dean takes a big sip of his drink and sighs. “So, the Mark was a nightmare?”

“For me, yeah, but you’re not human. You’ll have a different experience than me. If anyone can do it and still stay good, it’s you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“No, I don’t, but we never had powers that are older than time.”

You take another sip of your drink and scrunch your face up in disgust.

“I’m scared I’m going to hurt people. It was my choice to take but I shouldn’t have done what I did to you and Sam. Before coming to your world, all I saw was a solution to your problem. Put God and Amara away. I did that. I just didn’t think of the consequence it would leave behind.”

“You’ll fight this, Y/N, better than I ever did.”

You tap your fingers on the table rapidly because of your anxiety.

“Do you ever feel like you want to do the right thing and when you do it, it feels like the most wrong thing ever?”

 “Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Dean chuckles. “I didn’t want Sam going through what I went through.”

“I get it,” you nod.

“You are not Sam or me. You’re not going to go through it the same way.”

“I hope not,” you smile sadly. “No offense but this alcohol is making me depressed. Got anything else?”

Dean just smirks. He doesn’t tell you where you’re going, only that you’re going to love it. He takes you to a run-down building in an empty shopping area. It’s nearly closing time but he must have asked the wiener to stay open later just for him.

“Dean, what is this place?”

“A place to channel the rage.” 

After checking in with the owner, he takes you to the back room which is covered with graffiti, spray paint, and broken items everywhere. Dean grabs two baseball bats from the back and tosses one to you.

“What do I do now?”

“Be like the Hulk. Smash absolutely everything.”

Dean takes the first swing at a broken TV and you jump back from the sound. It takes you two seconds before you're swinging your own bat around. Dean jumps back so he doesn’t get hit but he watches you smash things with a smile on his face. You slam the bat into a ceramic vase, and it shatters into a million little pieces.

This is actually kind of fun.

“Check this out!”

You aim your hand at the TV Dean hit and blast it with your powers. You leave a gaping hole in the middle of the TV, and Dean looks at you with a nervous chuckle.

“Why don’t we stick to the bats? I don’t think they’ll appreciate you blowing this place up.”

“Oops,” you giggle.

You and Dean take the entire hour just smashing everything to pieces until there is nothing left to break. You two leave the place with big smiles on your faces despite you still feeling the nagging sensation of the Mark. What Dean did for you helped but now that it’s over, the darkness creeps in slowly.

Dean looks over and sees the look on your face. It’s a look he knows all too well. He opens the passenger door for you but doesn’t let you in the car yet.

“You know what else helps?”

“What?”

“A nice long drive with the windows down. There’s nothing like the open road, rock music, and the wind in your hair.”

“Okay, lead the way, Winchester,” you grin.

You two pile into the car and Dean takes off toward the back roads. The drive back to the Bunker only takes twenty minutes to get from the rage room but the back roads make the journey stretch to nearly an hour. Dean puts on soft rock and allows that to be the only thing to comfort you two in the car.

The windows are down and your hair is blowing gently, and a wave of calmness washes over you. You don’t think it’s the drive or the music but Dean. Being in Dean’s company is the one thing that’s working for you. You look at him to see him with a smile on his face and singing along to the music. He barely looks at you and does a doubletake when he sees you looking at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just… I think I’m going to be okay.”

Dean reaches over and grabs your hand.

“Yeah, I think you will, too.”

x

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