#jack is like castiel in every way that it counts

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (21)

Word count: 3.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Look who is posting regularly now ;)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“Miss, you can’t keep waiting by the door for him all day!”

“Watch me,” you muttered and Abby let out a sigh. She must be convinced of your obsessive insanity by now.

“I called Jack and he called Castiel. Mr Winchester will not be back before evening. You will fall sick in this cold.”

“It’s already five… won’t be long before evening. You go on.”

Abby gave you a look that most definitely doubted your sanity but left you at the foot of the staircase where you sat with your book, feet tapping so rapidly, that the anklet Sam had gifted you started to sting.

For the umpteenth time, you wondered what the last, engraved square charm stood for.

Abby had seen you through a week's worth of anxiety but did not know the reason behind it. You knew. Sam was to return today and he had every intention of completely avoiding you and there was no way you were giving him that chance.

Since finding it, you had read Sam’s letter so many times, that the crumpled paper had lost most of its composition and now lay flat, the words already etched in your mind. At first, the pain and sadness in his words riddled you like bullets, but the more time you spent with his words, the angrier you felt about the whole situation.

How dare he apologise for saving you? Stupid, stupid man! How dare he make you fall in love with him even more? 

Admitting to the things he’d admitted to couldn’t have been easy… his childhood, how he truly thought himself to be responsible for his mother’s death and then Jo’s. How his father had treated him, and watching his brother, the only family he had known waste away right in front of his eyes just like his father.

You shuddered to yourself, thinking of your Han that way. Dean had an easy-going way about him. If bringing you into the picture had eased his anguish, how could it have been a bad thing? Sam, with his principles, couldn’t forgive himself for the act, but you, who was the one affected by it, wanted to find him and kiss his hands for signing that cheque now. He hadn’t just saved his brother, he had also saved you.

Then there were things he’d admitted to about you. 

…but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair…

… I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips…

A soft shiver ran through your body at the recollection.

If Sam had stripped himself naked before you, he’d have still been less vulnerable. By admitting to the shame he felt over the simple act of choosing you, he’d bared more than you in that godforsaken picture. You understood him now… understood him to the depth of his soul. 

But you wished he understood that with all his principles, he was only a man. And he couldn’t keep punishing himself for having the reactions and instincts of one.

…How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that?

Reading those words? All you wanted to do was climb into his skin, dissolve into his being and hold him so tight, he’d never feel that shame again.

Footsteps echoed outside the door and you got to your feet, the book falling to the ground with a thump. Had you been less lost in thought, you would have realised those footsteps didn’t have the crispness of Sam’s.

“Hey, Honeybun!” Nick smirked. “Waiting for me?”

The air in your throat coagulated then disappeared to nothing seeing his face.

“You are as jawdroppingly gorgeous as ever.”

“And you are just as bastardly,” you heard yourself say. Any other day words might have evaded you, but living through Sam’s anguish over something he had no control over, made you livid at this asshole’s audacity, who hadn’t lost even a second of his sleep over destroying your life.

“Oh, she shows teeth now,” he said silkily.

“Get out of my house,” you hissed. “Get lost before I call the security.”

“And tell them what?” He challenged. “Why you’re kicking Sam’s cousin out? Mary was my mother’s sister, you know. I’m part of the Trust. Or do you not want the people in your house to know about us.”

“There’s no us.”

Nick took a few calculated steps close to you. “Come on now, Y/N. I know you love your secrets, you’ve always thrived in them. Secret siblings in a boarding school. Never thought I would become your dirty little secret, too.” He grinned and you shuddered. “What a privilege.”

He circled you slowly and you pressed into the balustrade, grabbing the handrail. 

“Poor little Sammy, does he know how you secretly met his brother at the pier in the middle of the night? That’s right, I saw little Y/N sneaking out in the dark. Do you still have Dean’s leather jacket in your drawer?”

The blood in your vein suddenly ran cold. “S- Sam knows… Dean and I are friends… He knows.”

“Tch Tch Tch,” laughed Nick, the sound grating your brain. “Sam knows his brother thinks of you as his friend. But you tell me, which respectable wife would tiptoe out of the house in the middle of the night to meet a complete stranger? Now good Ol’ Deano knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was, did he now? So didn’t you lie to your husband about your secret rendezvous with a man?” He sighed dramatically. “What they say is true after all. Once a slut… always a slut.”

“Don’t you…”

“Dare?” He mocked, hands in air. “Does Sammy even know everything you did with me? Did to me? That you’ve gone down on your knees for me and–

The clatter of a briefcase had you jumping out of your skin.

Sam stood over the threshold, face white as a board. 

“Sammy!” Nick greeted with glee. “My man! You look ready to drop. Bad trip?”

He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam shirked it away in disdain.

“I was just telling Y/N how wonderful it is to catch up with her after all these years. Did you know we used to date in college? Well, she was in college anyway. I never had time for that shit.”

Nick turned to face you with a grin. “I was telling her how… great she still looks. Doesn’t she?”

At long last Sam’s gaze slid from Nick to you, absolute disbelief etched in his expression. 

You stared back helplessly.

When Nick turned back around, Sam had gathered his expression and settled into a perfectly blank face.

“Nick,” said Sam, voice composed. “I had a long flight back and I’m in no mood to see your face when I could have a much better view. I’d much rather be in bed, having dinner with my wife than stand around listening to you reminiscing about things that don’t matter anymore.”

“You knew?” Nick challenged, doubtful.

Sam picked up his briefcase and briskly crossed the distance, surpassing Nick. “I sure remember gagging when Y/N mentioned it in passing. I find it hard to believe she had such terrible taste.” He picked up your fallen book and handed it to you, beginning to take the steps. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

At the top step, he turned and said, “Y/N, come on up. Find Abby and get her to send the dinner up for us. I’m starving.” With that, he disappeared into the corridor.

Shock held you in place for a few moments, but eventually, you turned your back on that grinning bastard and followed Sam up the steps. The door to his room was already closed and when you tried to push it open, the door held. 

“Damn it,” you cursed, crossing to the next door and getting into your own room. Things were already as fucked as they could get and this was not how you had wanted Sam to find out about Nick.

Horrifyingly, Sam and Dean now had one-half of the story. Dean knew your boyfriend had sold you to the boss and now Sam knew Nick had been the boyfriend. Only you knew the whole truth and had known it for a while. The mole on the estate that the brothers were searching for had to be none other than Nick. After all how many such assholes could be around? And it made perfect sense now. Nick was part of the Estate Trust, someone who could have easily offered Rosalie a new job, and lured all these women associated with the estate into the flesh trade. Even Jo, who might have just stopped the car to acknowledge Dean’s cousin had paid for that mistake with her life.

The true horror of the situation was how you could tell neither brother the truth because if Dean found out that Nick was the reason his fiance was dead, he would kill Nick and the boss would know. And if Sam found out what your Ex-boyfriend had done… you still remembered the murderous rage in his eyes when he’d found out about Michael inserting hot pins in your heels. If he confronted Nick, the boss would still know. Then what would happen to Jamie and Danny? You’d never see them again.

The sheer helplessness of holding the Ace that Sam and Dean so desperately sought in your hand, and yet unable to hand it to them.

Now, Sam knew and you felt ashamed of what he must be thinking.

Rushing inside the bedroom vestibule, you pushed at the connecting door, but for the first time, found it locked… from the other side.

“Sam!” you banged on the wood. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

“Open the damn door! Let me explain.”

Oh, how the tables had turned. What a wretched feeling to be on the other side, locked out. The medicine did not taste sweet.

“Open the door,” you tried again. “P-L-E-A-S-E”

Except the last word came out as knocks and pats on the wood.

You were about to give up when the door opened and you were only a couple feet away from Sam. Being away from him for an extended amount of time always made you forget just how tall he was and right now the buttons of his shirt appeared more appealing than meeting his eyes. 

“What?” Sam asked, point blank, his voice without inflection.

All you wanted to do was close the little distance and hug him, but the two steps in between felt like miles.

“Won’t you invite me in?”

A second passed, and then Sam moved aside. “It’s your house as much as mine. You’re welcome to any part of it.”

Tears pricked your eyes. Sam’s words and tone were polite, but each detached syllable stung like a pin in your heel.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” You remained resolutely at the threshold. 

“How?” 

Something about Sam’s quiet rage rankled you from the inside. Despite his absence, you felt like you had uncovered more of Sam from Dean’s words and then his letter. Sam had always seemed like an ocean on the verge of breaking into a cyclone, that something always simmered under it, barely restrained, but dangerous all the same. Seeing him now, face cast out of stone, you finally understood how he could have fooled all the staff into thinking of him as a cold man. The truth was that whatever darkness he restrained within him, whether it was anger, fear or hatred, all of that was at its thinnest now. If you pushed, that unhinged darkness, for better or for worse, would come unleashed.

You decided to push it.

Crossing into the room you walked past Sam and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He stared at you. Sam had gone from bad to worse… his skin was shallow and his eyes sunken, looking nearly black in their intensity.

“What do you want, Y/N?”He asked once more, not moving an inch.

“I want to talk.”

“Yeah?” He walked to the bed, towering over you. “Now you want to talk?”

You ignored the question and countered with your own.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“How much, Sam?”

“Nick’s your college boyfriend.” He took a deep breath and let it out. Calming the sea, keeping the cyclone at bay. “It’s alright. You don’t owe me answers.”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Yeah, he’s the one I told you about on our walk into the forest. My boyfriend from back home. We used to go on long rides on his Harley, cruising through the streets of California on hot nights. He was shacking up in a friend’s place in LA and he’d take me there on Friday evenings all the way to Sunday morning. Just the two of us–”

“That’s.. That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.” His fists were clenched, tendons standing out white against his skin.

“Why?” You shouted, getting to your feet. “You’re my friend and you told me I can share anything with you. So why not?”

He twisted his body and grasped your shoulder with both his hands, fingers digging into your skin. “You know why!” His sunken eyes were watery, the white tinged with red. “You know why, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, don’t break me like this.”

You finally closed the distance, snaking your arms around his thin waist. “He is nothing but a person from my past. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? You locked yourself for days when you saw him at the inauguration. It’s been a month since and you never said a word.”

Stepping back, you looked up at Sam and admitted part of the truth. “I was ashamed. Seeing him reminded me of my past in the most jarring way, and you’ve been so kind to me, I suppose I needed time to wrap my head around it all.”

Sam peered into your face, scrutinising.

“Believe me, please.”

He deflated just a little, then nodded.

“But him? Really?” His incredulity nearly broke you, but you held your own. “Of all people, Nick?”

Oh, if only Sam knew.

“I was naive and daddy issues are a thing.” You shrugged. “C’mon, let's go to our room. All your clothes are there and you need a shower.”

Taking his hand in yours, you led Sam back over the threshold into your bedroom and closed the connecting door behind you. 

He took the room in for a minute then dragged his feet to the walk-in-wardrobe. “I’m not hungry,” he said passing you. “Just call for some coffee.”

You still had Abby bring in some fruits along with the coffee. She sat by you, nibbling on a piece of apple as Sam finished in the shower, then waited long enough to wish Sam a good night when he returned. Sam had stepped out in a thin wet tshirt, hair dripping water into the neckline, and a towel wrapped around his waist. The way Abby averted her gaze, face flaming, gave you an idea.

She left quickly after and you watched Sam put on his drawstring pants and then remove the towel from around his waist. He got on his side of the bed, pulled the covers over his legs and reached for the cup of coffee.

“How do you expect to sleep if you drink coffee right before?” You asked, but then couldn’t help adding. “Not that the thing in the cup is remotely close to coffee. Stop doing business in Bali if this is what they give you in return.”

Sam rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “Enough with the coffee already.”

“It’s such a shame that you came out of the bathroom wearing the t-shirt today. Remember that time you came out with just the towel wrapped around your waist? Short towel, too.”

He drained his cup, put it back on the side table and faced you, brow furrowed. “When?”

“Last time you were here. Great abs. Guess all that working out helps, huh?” You put your fingers on his arm. “And that time we were all wet in the shed? I slipped and fell on you, I could feel the bulk of your muscles. Made my throat go dry.”

Sam gulped. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Very slowly, holding his gaze, you moved to straddle his hips and Sam flattened himself against the headboard, a deer caught in headlight. 

“The first time I saw you, Sam Winchester, even through the veil, I knew you were an attractive man and I can’t count the number of times I have found myself staring at your body— the shoulders, the chest, arms, all of it. If you want me to go into details about what seeing you shirtless does to me, you are welcome to be my guest, but the point is, I don’t feel ashamed about it. I don’t feel ashamed about a natural reaction.”

“You read the letter…”

Raising your hand, you gently skimmed the side of his face with the back of it and he closed his eyes at the touch. 

“I did, and now you know how I feel. What are you going to do now?”

“It’s different,” he said finally. “You didn’t pay money–”

“You said yourself that you paid the price for my freedom, for a chance to know the truth about Jo and not for my body.”

“You don’t understand–”

“Don’t complicate emotions to the point of no return, Sam. I’ve wanted to kiss you, and I took both of those chances.” You leaned it, face inches away from his now, lips only a whisper away from his. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do now?”

He opened his eyes, and they smouldered. Sam’s fingers found your hair and fisted in them. He crushed his lips to yours, devouring your mouth. His other hand slid from the base of your throat, down your body, decidedly feeling the shape of you. You followed his lead, rejoicing in it… in the following. His self-control had cracked at last and he was finally staking the claim, he should have staked a long time ago… making the first move, claiming what was his… you.

Maybe it was seeing you with Nick, knowing about your past, or hearing your admission, that had caused the careful wall of self-control that Sam always held around you to crumble. Some of that self-control must have survived because he broke off, breathing hard. 

“I’m not going to apologise,” he said.

“You better not.”

Sam smiled, skin stretching over his cheekbones, but it still lit his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”

When he slid into the bed, he grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side instead of restricting himself to his end of the bed. “Sleep, Y/N. We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Humour me,” he said. “I have the day planned.”

“Okay,” you agreed readily, then wound your hand around his waist, snuggling as close as you could. Between the two of you much had been said, and even more implied, yet a lot was yet to to be put into words. But Sam was here now and you had all of tomorrow. Right now you simply wanted to savour the feeling of holding the man you loved in your arms and being held by him.

*****************************

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam’s admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

Oh, I can’t wait to share what’s coming with you!

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  DESIRE (THE WANTON SONG)

SUMMARY : dean looks delicious in a suit, that’s it.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : castiel, jack kline 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, p in v, unprotected sex (21 years of prison), car sex, smut, teasing, funnies (but maybe that’s the coffee talking) 

WORD COUNT : 2.8k

A/N : led zeppelin song title. y’all… YALL! Dean’s so hot and I actually had coffee and so that’s why I’m… you know, imagine that this is really, really quickly spoken in your head :D XXXXXX

Was anyone really going to lie or hide the truth about how absolutely ravishing Dean looked in suits?

One thing Y/n knew was that she wouldn't be making that mistake. The only problem with that was that Cas and Jack decided to join them while Sam stayed at the Bunker recovering from a stomach bug with Eileen at his side. 

Should she feel bad for how turned on she was? 

He was just… existing.  

Still, he must know what he’s doing. Placing his hand on her thigh, mindlessly brushing his fingers along the inside as he drove. And he sang. He was singing, playfully. Making her laugh. 

And every time she laughed, he’d squeeze her thigh, and grin at her boyishly. She’d bite her lip, unable to resist his happiness. When they stopped at a red light or a stop sign, he’d lean over, and kiss her cheek, then he’d murmur something sweet into her ear. Her heart would flutter, her breath would hitch, and then he'd press one soft kiss to her lips.

If Cas and Jack hadn’t been in the back seat, she would have grabbed Dean by his tie and pulled him on top of her. That would be dangerous—considering that he’s driving—but, hey, it’s just a daydream. 

She just wanted him, everywhere, like… all over her body. His lips and his hands. His body above hers and his skin moving against hers. God… it was worse than normal, her desire for him. 

He was just so… irresistible. Not just because of how insanely attractive he is. It’s a combination of everything that makes him who he is. Adorable. Kind. Selfless. Brave. Funny. Smart. The list was endless, but every little thing was there, blooming deep in her heart, weaved intricately into her soul, growing hot like a star. At the end of it all, at the farthest edge of everything that she was, it was love built entirely of Dean. 

Her mind was elsewhere. She started to lag behind as they walked into the police station and Dean weaved his fingers through hers to keep her in pace with him. She subtly checked Dean out from behind, broad shoulders, firm ass, hot… all over. She had to resist slapping his ass and grinned to herself at the thought. 

Cas went ahead and started to talk to one of the detectives on the case while Jack looked around aimlessly. Dean pulled her hand to stop her from joining the angel and nephilim. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against her cheek, his lips ghosting over her earlobe, warm breath hitting her neck. 

“You okay?” He asked, pulling away slightly, and looked into her eyes. He held her jaw tenderly and his thumb brushed along her bottom lip, causing her to inhale sharply. A spark from his hand on her mouth made heat rise up her face, but she nodded anyway. “You sure? You’ve been quiet, spacey,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips against her. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered against his mouth. Dean placed a chaste kiss on her lips and kissed her cheek afterwards. 

“Okay,” he conceded hesitantly, circling his arm around her waist. Dean lead the way to where Cas and Jack were waiting patiently, having quiet conversation with each other. Jack looked confused at whatever Cas was trying to explain to him while Cas looked adorably exasperated. “Let’s go,” Dean smiled at the two of them, walking to where the officers placed the woman they’d just arrested. 

“Actually,” Cas stopped Dean with a hand on his chest. Dean lifted a brow and glanced down at Cas’ hand. “This would be a great opportunity for Jack to learn how to properly interrogate witnesses on cases. You two should take a look at the footage from the mini-mart,” Cas suggested firmly, but he waited for Dean’s approval anyway. 

Dean’s lips parted, he looked down her before looking back at Cas. He crossed his arms over his chest and it was oddly arousing. “You sure it’s not ‘cause you suck at using technology,” Dean teased with a smirk. 

The deadpan expression on Cas’ face made it funnier, somehow. He sighed and stepped closer to Dean, looking down at both their shiny black shoes. “I’m being serious, Dean,” Cas muttered, but Dean had a smug smile on his face that she knew Cas wouldn’t let slide when he looked up into green eyes. “Besides, you couldn’t figure out how to get Netflix to play on the television, Y/n had to do it.” 

Dean might have actually gotten offended. He shut his mouth, a firm line of his lips made those adorable little dimples of his to appear at the upper corners of his mouth. She stifled a laugh, and looked down at her heels, but Dean noticed anyway. Jack was the only one looking away, his gaze fixed across the room where the vending machine was. 

“Agents,” one of the detectives called from the interrogation room, staring at the four of them.

“Whatever,” Dean murmured, turning away from them. He left her there with their friends. She grinned up at Cas and he failed to resist a smile. Blue eyes looked down while she patted his chest as a goodbye before she jogged to catch up with Dean. 

“So,” she tried breaking the ice, hooking her arm around his as they walked to the room where they could watch the footage, “wanna place a bet?” Dean grunted in response, to which she took as a yes. “100 bucks, it’s a shifter,” she offered, letting go of his arm when he opened the door for her to enter first. 

“If it’s anything but a shifter… I get to call the shots on everything we do together for six months,” he said distractedly, beelining to the nearest computer. 

“Uh, no,” she laughed, “one month.” Dean glanced at her, it wasn’t anger, but there was something fiery in those forest greens of his that made her pussy clench around nothing. Her breath hitched, but she hid it with a sniffle. 

“Four months.” There was a finality to his words that made her shiver. She couldn’t disagree, and anyway, Dean’s ideas were never awful. Dean leaned over the table, and started to type away skillfully at the keyboard, giving her time to consider his compromise, before he pulled the video footage up. 

Had he not been waiting for the deal to be sealed with her agreement, she would have dwelled on the wave of arousal flooding between her legs at the sight of him proving Cas wrong about his ability to understand technology. 

She stepped closer to Dean, sitting on the table—very close to him.“Cheater,” she smiled playfully, he knew she’d never fold. Dean looked up at her, one hand on the keyboard, the other on the mouse. “Deal,” she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. 

Dean immediately let go of the keyboard and mouse to step between her legs and kiss her hard. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the table, and tangled his fingers in her hair. She moaned into his mouth, lewdly brushing her tongue against his when he pushed into her mouth. With a final, hot, firm suck of her tongue, he pulled away breathlessly with a rosy tint on his cheeks. 

She blinked the daze of his hearty lips away, and smiled dreamily, swinging her feet, her heels slipping off her feet slightly as she watched him work. She needed to fuck him, but she forced herself to look away from the pinched concentration of his brows, and the way he chewed on his lip. 

She analysed the video with Dean a few times before switching to other cameras around and within the mini-mart. A few people came in and out, no one remotely suspicious or dangerous, nothing supernatural about them either. 

“I don’t see anything,” Dean muttered, replaying the last video of the inside of the store. He watched it again for good measure. It showed the woman the detectives arrested serving herself a blue raspberry slushie from the machine with a woman standing next to her, asking for a taste.

She leaned the cup over to her lover, or friend, or whatever she was meant to be. She took a sip and they walked together to the register, the man barely paid any attention to them as they spoke. 

“Right there, look,” she told him, Dean raised a brow and rewinded the video. She mischievously ducked under his arms, and placed her hand over his on the mouse, bending over the desk like he was doing so her ass brushed against his crotch. Dean grunted softly, moving away slightly with his hands on her hips. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he whispered, squeezing her hip. She tried to remain composed, as much as she wanted to keep teasing and possibly do more, she genuinely found something.

Ignoring the throb in her clit, she teasingly asked, “uh, hello?” Dean’s hands flexed on her hip and then he pressed himself against her ass, to see what she saw. “You win the bet, it’s a siren,” she pointed out, pausing on the reflection of the monster’s terrifying face.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, letting her stand straight. “At least if it gets to me or you, it’s toxin won’t work,” he reassured her, kissing the top of her head. 

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always been perfect to me, the one person I could lean on, the one person I knew would never lie to me, or do what Sam did… you’re-”

“Reliable, boring,” she finished for him, crossing her arms insecurely. 

“Kind, trustworthy, and good,” he corrected firmly, “you still are, there’s nothing I’m keeping inside, nothing… bad… because you’ve never failed me.” She turned to face him, stomach fluttering, flustered by his steadfast reasonings. 

“I can be stubborn and repetitive,” she reminded him, they’ve been angry at each other a few times in the past. Frustrated is the more correct word for it than angry. She didn’t want him to be wrong, or to end up making him feel bad if it worked on either of them. 

“Caring and empathetic,” he corrected again, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black slacks. He stepped close to her and narrowed his eyes at her self-deprecating words. Oh, wow, she felt small, and hot, and wet. “Stop arguing with me, I’m older than you. That makes me always right,” he tried to lighten the mood, she smiled softly at him, and laughed. 

“You’re right, I don’t think it’s toxin will work,” she agreed despite her doubts. Dean smiled, but tilted his head inquisitively. “You trusted it… or whatever… because it gave you the one thing you wanted most, a family, but now, you’ve got most of what you wanted back then, Sam’s not doin-” 

“I don’t pay for therapy sessions, sweetheart,” he dismissed bashfully, slipping his hands out of his slacks to reach out for her hips and tug her towards him. 

“Uh, well… there’s always sex,” she suggested seductively, locking her fingers together behind his neck. Dean leaned forward, his nose brushed against hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Sex is pleasure, not business, sweetheart,” he murmured. She felt one of his hands fall from her hip, then she felt a rough, arousing spank on her ass. She yelped while he laughed and lifted her back up on the table. “I love you, you know that?” He asked softly, pressing kisses along her jawline. 

“Yes,” she whispered, hooking her fingers on his belt loops to tug him closer between her legs. She wiggled around and got the pencil skirt high enough to let her spread her legs wider for him. Dean finally kissed her, his fingers slowly ghosting along the inside of her thighs, moving higher. 

She moaned against his mouth, impatiently waiting for him to touch her where she needed him most. Dean’s kiss became steamier, he pressed closer into her mouth, tongue slowly gliding over hers. 

“Can you feel how wet I am for you?” She mumbled when he panted for breath against her mouth. His fingers finally grazed her wet heat and he groaned, roughly burying a hand in her hair. He tugged at the soft locks of her hair and drew circles around her entrance before sliding his fingers up to her clit. 

“We need to ditch Cas and Jack,” Dean murmured desperately, pulling his hand out from between her legs much to her dismay. Dean kissed her forehead softly. 

“That’s mean,” she pouted jokingly, leaning back with her hands flat on the table. 

“Okay, maybe I won’t ditch them, but… I’ll drop them off at the motel, there’s a place on the way,” he informed her, then sucked his fingers clean of her wetness.

“God, you look fuckable,” she giggled, gazing at him flirtatiously. 

He flushed red—well, redder. “What?”

“It’s not a secret.” She shrugged casually, playing with his bright red tie. It only made him look hotter. Wickedly so. 

“What isn’t?”

“That you look hot in suits,” she laughed, pulling his tie to bring him down for a quick kiss to emphasise her feelings.

“Really? You think so?” He laughed softly against her lips.

“Everyone knows that.” 

“I don’t care about everyone, I’m asking about you.” He bit his lip, amused, and squeezed her thighs. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m ditching them, they’ve got wings,” Dean gave in. He took her hand, pulling her off the table. She quickly fixed her heels and skirt, following him as a zap of excitement coiled up her spine. 

“Let me text them first!”

“Seriously? Here?” She laughed, unbuttoning her shirt as fast as she could while Dean fumbled and removed his belt. Dean stared up at her, smiling from ear to ear, and she rolled her eyes at him halfheartedly. 

“It’s an abandoned mall’s parking lot,” he reasoned, lifting his hips up to shove his boxers and slacks down all at once. “No one’s finding us here,” he reassured her, hands impatiently roaming up her thighs to lift the tight pencil skirt.  

“Like you care,” she teased him, moving forward on her knees.  The cotton blanket he placed covered the leather booth-seat, silencing the typical squeak of leather beneath them. Dean spluttered and shrugged indifferently, pulling her shirt out of her skirt to shove his hands inside her bra, and pulled down so her breasts spilled out. She held the door of the Impala, squeezing hard beside his head, and started to lower herself down on him with her fingers curled around his cock.  

Dean’s mouth fell open, and he closed his eyes, moaning her name softly. Her pussy clenched around him as she gazed down at his face, her heart stuttering in her chest. His eyes fluttered open, and he bit his plump lip, smirking at her—like he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Fuck,” she shuddered. Dean brought her closer, depositing wet kisses along her sternum and cleavage, all the while he gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. She could feel herself get wet around him, getting tighter, her breath hitching as she sank down lower and lower, taking every inch of him. 

“You’re hot, too,” he whispered, “in heels, or naked, or in my bed, or… in my car, especially on my dick.” Dean grinned playfully, and cupped her breast, squeezing gently, his calloused palm created delicious friction against her nipple. “You make sexy faces, like the one I just made-”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, circling her hips once she’d sunk all the way down on his cock, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of her thigh. 

“Really?” He teased breathlessly, bringing his two hands to her ass to squeeze and then slap roughly. She gasped and dropped her forehead on his, circling her hips excruciatingly slow. “I thought you liked it when I told you dirty stuff when we have sex. You know… like how badly I wanna cum when I see you every morning? It’s true, by the way,” he teased quietly, kissing her jaw, and bucked up into her pussy when she pushed herself up with her hands pressed against the window of the Impala. 

“Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” He asked, brushing her hair away from her face lovingly. “Sure drives me crazy. Ya know… your hot face, the… pretty sounds you make—all of you. The way you taste… all of you. The smell of your skin and your hair. All the dirty things you say.” She moaned softly, and Dean scooted up slightly, panting against her lips as she started to lift herself up and down again on his lap. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered, his hands travelling along her sides. 

“You have no idea how much I love you, Dean,” she laughed softly, cupping his cheeks. She tilted his head up and kissed him long, lips pressed firmly against his to pour every ounce of tenderness and love that flowered inside her heart, connecting the strands of her soul to his, and fusing her burning adoration for him like two colliding stars.

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[queerdeans]

Five Acres on an Unnamed Road

Summary:

Cas buys a five-acre lot on the outskirts of Lebanon. Dean builds a house. For @destielvalentineszine2025 organized by the lovely @disabled-dean and @butch--dean — there are still three days to submit your work for the zine! 💚💙

The bunker walls are too close and its darkness too absolute for Castiel to live there comfortably anymore. Everything reminds him of the Empty, though it’s been five months since Jack pulled him out. It’d only taken Jack a few days to decide he didn’t want to play the role of Absent God from some miserable corner of the universe, but instead, he wanted to let the universe keep trucking while he lived as normal a life as possible in Lebanon, Kansas, where his family was.

Five months since Dean had opened the bunker door to see Cas standing there. Five months since the bone-crushing hug that had threatened to break Cas’s body, newly sewn back together.

Four months and twenty-nine days since the first tentative, uncertain kiss.

But who needs to count when you have a lifetime at your fingertips?

Cas insists on driving to the store one bright and bitter-cold day, and Dean lets him take the wheel, which is one of the many ways Cas has learned that Dean Winchester says I love you. When Cas diverts from their well-trod route into town, Dean’s quiet; he likes when they do new things, even if it’s just driving on a road they haven’t been down before. He loves to stretch into their newfound free will, to explore the infinite paths forward that they have available to them now. But when Cas slows down next to a wooden sign, whose careful FOR SALE lettering has been plastered over with a SOLD sticker, Dean frowns.

The land is blanketed with heavy snow and is mostly flat. There’s a half-hearted, drooping wooden fence that travels the full perimeter of the five acre lot. Cas knows this because he’d walked the entire thing the week before, the snow soaking through his shoes, the cold whipping at his face. But he hadn’t needed to; he’d known from the second he saw the for sale sign that he would buy it.

Dean’s been pretty set on living an honest life lately, so Cas forewent asking Jack to work a small-scale miracle or getting Charlie, whose Apocalypse World counterpart is every bit as savvy as the Charlie Dean and Sam had met a decade earlier, to forge some loan documents. Instead, he made a few calls, spread the word about what he wanted to do, and the money came pouring into his newly-created checking account at the Kansas Federal Credit Union, courtesy of their network of friends both near and far.

Now, as Dean hesitantly gets out of the car, Cas pulls the title from the glove compartment. He rounds the Impala and hands it to him wordlessly. Dean peers at the paper and then up at the land in front of him, and slowly, a smile spreads on his face.

“Who’d you have to bribe?” he asks.

Cas shrugs. “A lot of people love you, Dean, and were happy to pitch in. All they ask is that we host a housewarming party.”

Dean laughs in half-shock. “A housewarming party? There’s no house here.”

“Not yet.”

The land stretches out in front of them, curving away with the horizon. The lot is quiet, settled beneath the wide prairie sky, and is nestled in between two family farms. The earth is fertile and ready for planting deep roots, ones that might stay awhile.

It takes a year for there to be a house. The earth is still mostly frozen when they break ground. Dean’s wearing a hard hat and grinning ear to ear, and when he digs the shovel into the dirt, he lets out a loud whoop of joy. Jack takes a picture and Sam shakes his head and Eileen consults yet again Dean’s questionably-sound building plans. Cas just watches Dean, hands shoved in the pockets of his winter coat, amazed to be alive, to be standing here, to be with his family on a cold day.

Used to be, the entire world was his to watch over, and he’d grown bored with the millennia. Now, entire centuries worth of joy pass between his eyes and Dean’s as they stand on the little patch of dirt that they call their own.

Over the next year, Dean insists that his brief experience working construction while living with Lisa is sufficient. And in the end, it proves to be, though the construction is not without significant hiccups. Dean nearly dies several times of perfectly normal, stupid, and preventable causes, which, after the danger has passed, seems to somewhat delight him. He falls from a ladder but only breaks his tibia; he nearly shoots himself in the head with a nail gun, but doesn’t; and there’s an incident involving a territorial opossum that he refuses to speak about.

Cas has never seen him so happy.

Dean won’t let Jack or Cas use any of their God-or-angel mojo on the house, and for awhile he doesn’t even want Sam helping out. But as summer begins to stretch itself out and Cas’s anxiety to get out of the bunker increases, Dean capitulates and lets Sam, Jack, Eileen, and Cas help out more frequently. Jack turns out to be a natural with power tools, though Cas catches him cheating with his God-powers every now and then when he thinks no one is looking. Eileen reveals herself to have roofing experience (“What? Can’t a woman have a life?”) which comes in handy. Sam and Dean bicker about stupid things that have nothing to do with Lucifer, Michael, Hell, or the world ending, but rather building codes, railing lengths, and types of wood — and they both enjoy it immensely.

When the year mark on the project approaches and the house is nearly ready, Dean starts to be secretive, telling Cas not to come over, that he wants to keep a few things a surprise. Cas takes to spending more time at the local farmer’s co-op, where he’s been picking up a few regular hours of work each week, learning everything there is to know about simple and beautiful things like fertilizer and chicken care and seeds. Everyone seems to like him, and though Dean’s nervous the first few times he drops by during one of Cas’s shifts, his new coworkers welcome him as Cas’s partner with open arms.

Finally, the place is ready, according to Dean, and he and Cas pack up the last of their belongings and load them into the back of Cas’s truck. Sam and Eileen have found a place in Topeka and will be moving there in a few weeks, though Sam’s still planning on coming back to the bunker regularly to check in on the hunters who will be moving in to take over the bunker’s care; Jack’s got some grand plans to backpack the world for a couple of months, after which who knows what he’ll do?

It feels more like a beginning than an end as Cas drives the loaded-up pickup down the unnamed dirt road that leads to their new house. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, Dean peers at him sideways, nervous, and Cas squeezes his hand.

“As long as you didn’t paint a mural of Steven Tyler on our bedroom ceiling, I’ll love it,” he promises Dean before they get out of the car and approach the house.

It’s a craftsman with a wide front porch and is painted a soft yellow. There are two rocking chairs on the porch which they’d found at a flea market in Kansas City. Dean’s painted them up and applied some wood glue in key places to make them sturdier, and he made a little table to go between them, which he says is key — it’s where they’ll put their beer when they sit out here at night.

Inside, it’s warm, as Dean came by earlier that morning to load up the wood-burning furnace in the living room. The downstairs is made up of three large rooms: a living room with a worn, comfortable couch, a big mounted TV, and the two plaid armchairs from the ‘Dean Cave’; a dining room with a long wooden table and plenty of chairs; and a kitchen filled with natural light and a solid butcher’s block counter. Most of the elements that furnish the home were found at flea markets or thrift stores, all of them used and coming with a story, such as the couch, which had been loaded very precariously into Cas’s truck bed and most certainly would not have actually fit and remained steady for the long drive back to Lebanon without some divine intervention from Jack, who had denied his involvement.

Upstairs there are two rooms. First is the main bedroom with a walk-in closet and a large bathroom, complete with a detached tub big enough for both of them. The picture window behind their bed faces out onto the backyard and lets in plenty of natural light. Next to their room is what is technically the guest room, but is really Jack’s, for whenever he wishes to stay. Next to the bed is the IKEA bookshelf that Cas and Kelly had built in the days prior to Jack’s birth; it had been intended to hold baby books and stuffed animals, though now Jack has filled it with figurines of some of his favorite movie characters, along with books about dragons and sprawling histories of ancient civilizations.

Because Dean’s a hunter, and because they’ve lived the lives they’ve lived, the house has a few special qualities. First, there’s warding throughout the foundation and beneath the paint jobs in each room, done by Cas, checked by Sam, checked again by Eileen, and so on. There’s warding on the fence posts that ring the property, as well, newly built and sturdy. In the bedroom closet is a false door hiding the gun safe, though it holds far more weapons than just guns. Though both Dean and Cas have mostly retired from hunting since saving the world this last time, neither is naive enough to think that there may not be a time they’ll want to follow up on a strange newspaper headline or help out some fresh hunters with a difficult case. And Cas isn’t sure Dean would sleep as well without knowing the weapons are there, anyway.

Dean takes Cas’s hand now pulls him through the first level to the back door. “Don’t expect too much,” he says, and Cas wants to tell him that everything about this place already surpasses his wildest expectations, the most outlandish dreams he could have ever had.

When Dean opens the door, Cas sees that the backyard has been transformed. They had spoken briefly about putting a patio and a grill back here, but really, Dean has done far more than that. There is indeed a patio and grill, with string lights draped between poles all around it, making it perfect for entertaining whenever folks come through town and stay awhile. But beyond that, Dean’s built several long garden beds, next to which is a newly constructed chicken coop. There’s a freshly-painted shed, a wooden beehive box, and a fenced-in area with a small barn. Cas gapes at all of this, unsure what to say.

“Thought we might raise some chickens, bees, maybe some goats,” Dean says, his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously.

This time, it’s Cas’s turn to smile, just as Dean had done when Cas gave him the land deed. “It’s perfect,” he says, taking Dean in his arms and kissing him. “Just perfect."

The guests arrive sporadically throughout the day, depending on their distance and how much they want to help Dean and Cas prepare for the party. Jody and Donna, for instance, arrive three hours before the start time, with Claire, Kaia, Patience, and Alex in tow. Dean makes fun of the minivan they all arrive in for a solid fifteen minutes. Charlie arrives an hour after that with Stevie, and Bobby and Rowena surprise each other by showing up at the same time, the former from where he’s been carving out a life in South Dakota and the latter from her throne in Hell. Garth arrives closer to on time with Bess, Gertie, Sam, and Castiel, which gives Dean something to grumble about for the twentieth time (“why wouldn’t he name him after me?”). A few other hunters join the mix, and when Cas gets a text from his new friends from the co-op that they’re on the way, he has to make an announcement to everyone to “act normal” and if they have to talk about monsters, to do it quietly.

In the entryway of the house, they’ve hung up a big poster board with progress photos tacked onto it, starting with the empty lot. 5 acres of nothing; trees dotted here and there and a little stream that ran through the northwest corner, wild grass growing untamed, the family of opossums which Dean conceded a half an acre to. There are progress photos, including one of Dean at the urgent care, grinning ear-to-ear, high on painkillers, arm in a splint after his fall from the ladder. The photo of Eileen leaning over the edge of the roof while Sam panics below gets a laugh from everyone, though Sam is less-than-amused by it.

The party is in full swing with Dean’s carefully-curated playlist cranking out through the speakers in the living room and the food dishes spread out on the table. Cas comes and finds Dean in the midst of an argument with Charlie over a video game character. He taps him on the shoulder and beckons with his finger; Dean, whipped until the very end, follows Cas upstairs obediently.

When they get to the bedroom, Cas closes the door and orders Dean to sit on the bed. Dean does so with a smirk and a “With all the guests around, you kinky bastard?”

But Cas doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself onto one knee and produces a small box from his pocket.

Dean’s struck dumb, staring at him with his mouth slightly open. “Are you…” he starts.

“Yes,” Cas says, opening the box and holding it out. The ring is silver, a thick band similar to the ring that Dean used to wear. “I think I’ve made enough… speeches for a lifetime,” he says, never eager to remember that moment of happiness he’d allowed himself before the Empty had swallowed him up. He’d assumed it was his last — and he’s been counting every happy moment since as a blessing.

“You know how I feel about you, Dean. About our life. It’s… it’s in everything around us.” He casts a glance about the room. One of his sweaters is tossed over a chair, a flannel shirt of Dean’s haphazardly laying on top of it. A book lies open on his pillow while Dean’s reading glasses — the ones he makes Cas swear to never tell anyone about — rest on the bedside table. It’s a life. A real life, a good one. Simple in all the ways they’d never thought they could have.

“I didn’t want to do this publicly,” Cas says, “but I want to use this moment, with everyone around us… all of the people we love… they’re all here, we’re here, because of you, Dean. And I’d be honored if you’d—”

Dean can’t wait anymore, and he’s on his knees too, pulling Cas in by the shoulders for a kiss. His hand tangles in Cas’s hair and he breathes into Cas’s mouth. “Yes. Fuck yes, I’ll marry you, Cas. Of course.”

“Do you think this is what your father would have pictured for you?” Cas asks that night as they sit on the porch. The party has wound down but many of the guests remain, lingering in the house or the yard. The crickets are loud tonight, scoring the evening. The living room’s warm glow is cast onto the porch, over the two of them, but the surroundings are still dark enough that the sky’s bounty is easily visible. Dean had gotten Cas a telescope for Christmas so that he could see all the cosmos, the infinite worlds that still existed, framing this one world, theirs. Cas can name most of what he sees in the sky tonight, and he cherishes the sight of it, the way infinity looks from this five acre patch of grass.

“No,” Dean says with a shake of his head. The ice in his whiskey clinks gently in his glass. “Yours?”

Cas lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Thankfully, no.”

Some small part of him, the part that may never be able to forget the Empty and all that it had meant for so long in his life, hanging over his head for years before pulling him away from Dean, waits for himself to be swallowed up once more. But Dean reaches out a hand and finds Cas’s, and he squeezes it tight. From inside comes Jack’s voice, loudly recounting some story from his travels, and Claire’s laugh replies.

No darkness rushes forth to grab him. There is only this: a patch of grass; the bleating of goats; the clucking of chickens; and the sound of family, just inside.

[numberonenat]

i asked chat gpt to make a playlist based on my candy love characters...

here's part 2 and 3: others / dateables ul + chani

here's what it gave me:

castiel:

"make me wanna die" by the pretty reckless

"ignorance" by paramore

"welcome to the black parade" by my chemical romance

"bring me to life" by evanescence

"sugar, we're goin down" by fall out boy

"i write sins not tragedies" by panic! at the disco

"sk8er boi" by avril lavigne

"boulevard of broken dreams" by green day

"dirty little secret" by the all-american rejects

"i hate everything about you" by three days grace

"numb" by linkin park

"so cold" by breaking benjamin

"gasoline" by halsey

"the kill (bury me)" by 30 seconds to mars

"i miss you" by blink-182

nathaniel:

"fix you" by coldplay

"fireflies" by owl city

"hey, soul sister" by train

"how to save a life" by the fray

"i'm yours" by jason mraz

"all of me" by john legend

"love song" by sara bareilles

"banana pancakes" by jack johnson

"you're beautiful" by james blunt

"the way i am" by ingrid michaelson

"thinking out loud" by ed sheeran

"bubbly" by colbie caillat

"say something" by a great big world

"make you feel my love" by adele

"count on me" by bruno mars

lysandre:

"supermassive black hole" by muse

"personal jesus" by depeche mode

"sweater weather" by the neighbourhood

"mr. brightside" by the killers

"do i wanna know?" by arctic monkeys

"intro" by the xx

"shake it out" by florence + the machine

"summertime sadness" by lana del rey

"creep" by radiohead

"running up that hill" by placebo

"closer" by nine inch nails

"only happy when it rains" by garbage

"1979" by the smashing pumpkins

"sour times" by portishead

"teardrop" by massive attack

kentin:

"good vibrations" by the beach boys

"walking on sunshine" by katrina and the waves

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"good time" by owl city

"here comes the sun" by the beatles

"happy" by pharrell williams

"sun street" by katrina and the waves

"shut up and dance" by walk the moon

"i'm a believer" by the monkees

"africa" by toto

"i'm gonna be (500 miles)" by the proclaimers

"dancing queen" by abba

"mr. blue sky" by elo

"all star" by smash mouth

"on top of the world" by imagine dragons

armin:

"video killed the radio star" by the buggles

"don't stop me now" by queen

"bohemian rhapsody" by queen

"take on me" by a-ha

"livin' on a prayer" by bon jovi

"sweet child o' mine" by guns n' roses

"every breath you take" by the police

"another one bites the dust" by queen

"don't you (forget about me)" by simple minds

"eye of the tiger" by survivor

"we will rock you" by queen

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"sweet caroline" by neil diamond

"boys of summer" by don henley

"hotel california" by eagles

i actually like this a lot lol

this is always so fun to make even if they don't make sense so yeah qskjvfhdjw

i'll make a part 2!!!

[herefortheships]

Here it is! My first fanfic in over TEN years! This fic is for today's Destiel fandom event Electric Boogaloo, hosted by @blanketforcas in celebration of the anniversary of the Latam dub giving us canon reciprocal Destiel.

The theme of the event is reciprocation, and that is the theme of my little fic. I hope you like it!

(I wanted to also share this to AO3 and contribute to the over 100,000 Destiel fanworks, but I haven't gotten my invitation yet! So this will go over there eventually.)

Word count: 1,778 words

No warnings of any kind. I think it's a sweet kind of story.

Short summary: Dean sits down to write a letter for Cas with all the things he didn't get to say.

Felicidades a Dean y Castiel en este aniversario. Siempre quiero recordar la alegría (y el DOLOR de ALMA lol) que estos dos me han dado desde el 2012 hasta el día de hoy. Los amo. 😊✨

(Congratulations to Dean and Castiel in this anniversary. I always wat to remember the joy (and the PAIN of my SOUL lol) these two have given me since 2012 until today. I love them. 😊)

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

The words he never said

A short fic by Here for the Ships (Des 💚)

Dean Winchester sat at his desk with nothing but a pencil, a sheet of paper, and a bottle of booze. Sam was out in an early morning run with the dog, so Dean was alone with some time to kill and some thoughts to finally drag out of his head and smother away with this one sheet of paper. It had been over two months, now, since he had been forced to part ways with Cas; since his entire world had been turned inside-out and upside-down.

He wasn’t sure if he had processed everything; from the loss of Cas, to defeating Chuck (aka the God), to living in a world where his new God had been a surrogate son to him only a couple of months ago.

The events of those days played often in his mind, when he found himself alone; they paraded in his dreams as he tried to sleep at night… The grief of what was lost had become a constant companion, peering through any moment of peace in the most unexpected ways. A song suddenly playing in the radio, a scent attached to a moment he would never get back.

Dean had considered taking it on as his one mission in life, hunting down the Empty and getting Cas back. But no. He had learned it well and deep by now, that revenge never resulted in anything good. Plus, he’d had enough of dealing with supernatural beings with ineffable, omnipotent powers. Chuck was the final Big Fish he took down, and he was good with that.

Dean took a look at the bottle of room-temperature beer for a few seconds, and he pushed it back on his desk instead of taking a sip this time. It’d hurt, but these words needed to be said. Or at least, he needed them out of his head and stored somewhere else.

“Well, Cas… These are the things I never said…” he said to himself, picked up the pencil, and got to writing:

Last night I prayed to Jack, again… And Cas, buddy, you know how much I hate having to do that. But I had to. You know, I thought I had accepted it, that I was over it. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do… We were all doing what we thought was right. But it just keeps playing over and over, and over in my head.

Cas, what the hell were you thinking? I’m not one for judging… I’ve done my share of stupid things, too. For love, for not wanting to be left alone… But Cas, how could you do this to me? I know it sounds fucking selfish, because you’re gone, and because of that we’re all safe and your sacrifice wasn’t it vain—it was never in vain, I really hope you know that. But Cas, now I have to live knowing that you’re gone because you loved me. You loved me. You said all those things about me, I can scarcely remember all of it (trust me, I’m kicking myself about it every freaking day), but I can feel it, everything. I can feel every damned word, every damned day.

Just so you know, because of you… Because of you I could see more in me. Because of you I could see myself differently than I ever did before. Man, I wish I wasn’t so bad with this… That I could put into words just what that all meant to me, what it means to me.

You said all those things about me, and I didn’t get to say anything. And yeah, just like I’ve prayed to you, hoping you could hear what I had to say, I’ve also prayed to Jack. I’ve prayed almost every single night for him to get you out of that place; for him to set things right… But I haven’t heard a word from Jack, and I haven’t seen a flutter of angel wings anywhere; nothing to connect me to Heaven, nothing to give me a clue on what to do….

Every night, the scene of your death plays inside my head, like a freaking movie I can’t look away from no matter how much I want. And in my head, I always stop it from happening. In my head we face the Empty together and we win. We always win.

Dean stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts, wondering if writing this would be enough.

I think I took it for granted, that we always win. I think at some point I felt invincible. You know, you and me, and Sam, we’ve taken some pretty Big Fish. I think something inside me always felt like we’d always win, that we’d always come back to the bunker together and share some beers. I think something inside me always believed that, even though I didn’t fully realize it. Looking back now, I see it. Cas, when you said those words to me, I froze. And it took me a while, you know? To understand what really happened. That I was your happiness.

“No, I don’t think I should put it like that…”

That I was your happiness. That just letting me know how you felt about me was enough to make you truly happy. Enough to make the Empty come and take you. But Cas, now I have to live with that knowledge and it’s driving me fucking crazy, because… Alright, I’m not good with words, and I’m sure by now you know that about me, Cas, but I just wanted you to know, I needed you to know

Dean sat back and sighed a long sigh, staring at the page like it was staring right back at him, somehow shaming him, even though there was no one here to read over his shoulder. “I can’t even write the motherfukin’ words.”

There was no time to finish this now, anyway. He’d heard the door a few minutes ago: Sam was back, and he should be in the shower now. There was a case they were driving up to today, and he’d already made up his mind: it would be his last. He was officially retiring after today (not that he’d told Sam anything about that yet, but… he’d figure out how to say it on the way back).

They were supposed to leave after breakfast for a whole day of driving.

Chuck was defeated and Jack had vanished, having become the new God (that was still crazy to think about). There were no immediate world-ending threats and no more infinitely powerful surrogate son to take care of anymore. He was done hunting. If Cas was truly gone forever, then he’d honor his sacrifice by living the best possible life he could live. And that life, however he looked at it… That life didn’t include hunting. Not anymore.

Dean sat down to tie his boots, and as he did, a second pair of boots appeared right in front of him. “Man, that was fast. I didn’t even hear the damned door just now. You’re gonna have to give me a break, Sammy.” But when he raised his gaze, he found himself looking at Jack, standing there with a small smile.

The color drained out of Dean’s face. For a moment, he could only stare at Jack, wondering if he was imagining it.

“Hello, Dean. You’ve been okay?” Jack said, sounding a little timid, to which Dean replied, “Yeah… I’m fine, no thanks to you… Almost gave this old man a heart attack…” Dean joked, a little breathless, and God or not, this was Jack, so he pulled him into a hug. “Come here. How’ve you been? It’s so good to see you…”

“I’ve been good,” Jack said, and he pulled away. “There’s someone else who’s been wanting to see you." Jack beamed. "Believe me, it took me a while to negotiate (you won’t be surprised to know, not even God is entirely all powerful), but I finally did it…”

And that was when Dean felt it, the powerful presence behind him.

He could do nothing but stand there as the realization of what Jack meant dawned on him, until the words broke him out of the spell, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around, and there he saw…

“Cas…”

Castiel was standing there, right in front of his bed. He was fully restored; Dean didn’t need to see a shadow of his wings to know this was Cas in his full angelic power, safe and alive and standing right there in his bedroom. “But… how?”

“We heard your prayers,” Jack said, “and Cas didn’t belong in the Empty. I had to right a wrong.”

“You damn well had to…” said Dean, still staring at Cas. “Jack…” He finally turned back to thank him—to say anything—but Jack was gone.

“Dean… I’m so sorry…” Cas said. “I should’ve—”

“What are you talking about, man… You’re back… That’s all that matters.”

“I owe it all to Jack. He is everything I hoped he would become,” Cas said, and he smiled.

And then, there was silence. Even though Dean had been writing a long letter just moments ago, full of all the things he wished he could have said to Cas that day, here was Cas in the flesh right now—his Cas—and not a single word would form.

So Dean just pulled Cas into a hug and squeezed him tight, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry it all happened so abruptly; I wish I could—” Cas started.

“I don’t care. Cas… I don’t care.” Dean pulled back from the hug, staring Cas straight in the face with his hands still on his arms. “All I care is that you’re here.”

Cas looked sad, or perhaps, conflicted. “Dean… I know… What I said before…” he started, but Dean stopped him again.

“Cas… If you heard me just now… If you’ve heard my prayers, to you, to Jack… Then you know. But still… I feel like I should say something.”

“Dean… You really don’t have to—”

“But I’m not good at saying something, so…” he pulled Cas into a kiss. It was warm and tender, and salty with the tears that had finally pushed their way out. Cas kissed him right back, and when they stopped, they stood there sharing each other’s breath, with their lips just an inch away from another kiss.

“I think that should be enough of an answer… But if it wasn’t, Cas…” Dean smiled, a small, trembling smile, and it was almost a whisper when he said, “I love you, too.”

[ibrowjo]

Kind of Like a Mother

a/n: I've been wanting to upload my writing for a while now, and I just finished editing this one (maybe, it's late so who knows how it looks rn), so I thought 'why not?' I've been writing a lot of self-insert fics that have to do with things I've been through myself or with family members, and that's what this one turned into by accident... oops. so be free little bird lol.

Warnings: fighting, angst, language, brief mentions of death and violence, talk of menstruation and infertility

Word count: 3829

“I’m home!” I called, returning from my late night shopping trip. No answer came as I carefully stepped down the metal stairs of the bunker, trying not to drop the bags of groceries layered up my arms. Nobody home to help me. Nobody home to see the bag full of candy bars and cream-filled cakes I intended to keep stashed in my room. Perfect.

The truth of the matter was that I didn’t eat a lot of sweets, but when Castiel discovered Jack eating breakfast cereal in the dark in the middle of the night to hide from Sam and his healthy habits, I took it upon myself to empty one of my dresser drawers and keep it stocked with treats instead. Cas knew about this, but we both agreed Dean couldn’t. Not that he’d try and stop Jack like Sam would, but the angel and I both knew the stash would disappear without anyone having seen Dean try. Besides, I never used the room anyway, so it was the perfect hideout.

Once my heavy boot met the stone floor at the bottom of the stairs, I hurried down the few steps into the kitchen, prickling sensations shooting up and down my right arm from the weight that the woven, recycled plastic straps were carrying. I had gotten good at packing groceries into my reusable bags, but feeding a house full of hungry men meant seven heaping bags at the end of every weekly shopping trip. And I’ll be damned if I had to make more than one trip.

I heaved my progressively numbing arms up over the table and plopped the bags down, freeing myself from the tangle of bags. “Atta girl,” I whispered to myself, shaking my arms down by my sides to get the blood flowing again. Once the warmth worked its way back into my fingertips, I jumped right in, going first for the two bags stuffed with cold items. Footsteps sounded behind me as I was busy buried in the fridge arranging the fresh food around Sam’s various flavored protein shakes. I turned quickly just in time to see the Green Giant approaching the bags, reaching out to grab one and help.

“Hey,” Sam started. “You’re back. I wanted to talk to you ab-”

“STOP,” I roared, my hands reaching out in front of me as if the action alone could repel the 6’4” giant.

He raised his hands up in front of him in surrender, a look of concern spreading across his face.

“Woah, sorry,” he said as I lowered my hands. “What’s going on?”

I thought up the best lie I could as I rushed to the table and started discreetly looking through the bags, searching for the sugary gold mine.

“Girl stuff! I have…stuff…in one of these bags. Sorry,” I lied sheepishly.

“Okay…” he responded in confusion. My lie was stupid. Sure they were guys, but I’d never been one to shy away from asking them to pick up some tampons when they were out. They didn’t even need to ask what size to get anymore. When it was Dean’s turn, he’d not only show up with the tampons, but some condoms and a bunch of my favorite fruit as well.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, finding the correct bag and pulling it off the table, hugging it to my chest. “I’m just going to put this in my room and I’ll be back.” I went to walk away, but Sam called out gently.

“Hey, are you okay?” I turned to face him again, smiling at him sheepishly.

“Of course I am,” I replied curtly.

“You’re acting a little…weird.” I stared back at him in silence trying to think of something to say to get him off my back, but before I could, he walked closer to me and lowered his voice to continue. “Are you hiding…like a…test or something? Because if you are, I promise-”

“No!” My eyes widened as it hit me what Sam was insinuating. “No. Not at all, Sammy, no.”

Sam’s question threw me off, and I spaced out. He had no way of knowing. Not unless Dean or Cas told him, which I knew would never happen. My best friend stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring me down waiting for an explanation, but my mind instantly flew back.

I thought of the searing pain in my abdomen for the third night in a row, of myself telling Dean it was probably residual pain from an injury on our last hunt, of him declaring it bullshit and praying to Cas to come help me. The diagnosis echoed so loudly with the angel confirming my fears. It wasn’t an injury.

“Hey,” Sam interrupted, pulling me from my painful thoughts with a wave of his hand in front of my face. “Are you with me?” Concern melted from his face and morphed into some form of frustration, his jaw clenched as he waited.

Things had been tense between all of us, what with Jack’s soul being restored, Dean’s subsequent anger, and Chuck’s looming wrath. Not even the good-natured Sam was exempt from losing his cool, meaning this conversation could turn bad rather quickly unless I turned it around.

“It’s girl stuff… for Dean and I. Just figured I’d save you the mental images.” I laughed nervously.

His response was immediate. “Oh, God. Thanks…for that,” he said as he looked up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay. So is there anything else in these bags I should be worried about?”

“Nope,” I promised. “Knock yourself out.” I twirled on my heel and took off down the hall, still hugging the junk-filled bag to my chest.

Once the contents had been emptied into my drawer and I’d kicked my boots off, I threw myself backwards onto my unused bed, my thoughts drifting back to that night months ago.

At first, I kept telling Dean I was fine aside from the pain, which Cas was able to ease when it showed up. We weren’t planning on a kid anyway, and even in the future, it would be dangerous and just plain wrong to bring one into our world. We didn’t have to worry anymore. 

Except he saw through me like I was made of glass. No matter how hard I tried to swallow my grief down, he knew I was shattered on the inside. The doctor’s visits, disguised as date nights to Sam and Jack, were squeezed in between hunts, and the new birth control pills to help manage my ruthless cycle had their own spot in my bag next to my blades and gun. It was a new normal. One that Dean saw my daily struggle with. Even with everything he had going on, he was there for me every single time.

Now, my periods were regular and not at all a burden. No pain and no heavy bleeding.

And, as crushed as I was about it, no children.

With a cleansing sigh, I sat up and looked around my room. A thick layer of dust covered the nightstand I had emptied out immediately after I started sleeping in Dean’s room. Dragging a finger through it, I created a dark stripe, exposing the wood underneath. I inspected the dust on my fingertip for a moment before standing and retrieving an extra towel from another drawer in my dresser.

With that towel, I set to dusting the nightstand, along with the top of my dresser and the surface of my desk, lifting stacks of hunting notes and photos to file away in the attached filing drawers. Finally, I pulled the corner of the covers on the bed to straighten out where I’d rumpled them.

Satisfied and decently distracted, I returned to the kitchen to find the groceries put away, and Dean and Cas had joined Sam at the table with a couple of beers.

“There she is!” Dean grinned, holding his arm out to greet me, his gruff expression softening a bit. I walked over to him and he wrapped his arm around my waist as I placed my hand on his back. He turned and kissed the inside of my arm and said, “You are a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart. Want a drink?”

“No, I’m good, thanks baby. Where’s Jack?” I asked, gently scratching at the back of Dean’s neck.

Cas cleared his throat. “I believe he is in his room.”

“Yeah,” Dean piped up. “Kid didn’t want to come out for dinner.”

Sam cut in. “To be fair, Dean, he’s having a hard time, and you aren’t exactly helping the situation.”

Here we go.

“Hey, I’ve been nice. I’ve been doing my best, but I can’t just suddenly drop everything that happened,” the older brother responded matter of factly.

“Dean-” I started, untangling myself from his grasp. My frustration grew, as did my familiarity with this conversation.

“He’s a kid,” Sam defended, cutting me off. “He didn’t have his soul. And he loved mom. He’s devastated.”

Cas spoke up as well. “Dean, you have trusted me for years, yet you still refuse to believe me when I say Jack is good. He’s heartbroken over Mary.”

“Son of a bitch, Cas, don’t say her name. You know I’m trying.” Dean’s voice raised slightly, and I dreaded what was about to come next.

Heart sinking and uneasiness rising, I backed away from the boys as they continued to argue back and forth, and I left the kitchen, pacing through the halls to Jack’s room. I reached his door and noticed the soft light coming from underneath it.

I gently knocked. “Jack? It’s me.”

No answer.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. And let you know that I still care, and I’m worried.” I paused, waiting to see if he’d open the door or say something, but nothing happened. “Just…let me know if you need anything. I know it’s been tough.” I sighed as silence filled the hallway. “Goodnight, Jack.”

I padded away from his door and towards Dean’s, tired and ready to start settling in for the night. The room I’d been sleeping in for a few months now invited me in with a smell that was so irrevocably Dean.

And right now, it annoyed me.

I’d been back and forth with Dean so many times about the poor nephilim. I was exhausted. I tried so hard to be a constant for Jack, to let him know he wasn’t a waste of space or time, but after everything with Jack’s soul and Mary’s death, things changed. His confidence in himself had been destroyed. I didn’t know how to lift him up.

I stomped over to the bed, grabbing my bottle of pills and my phone charger, then yanked a tee shirt and sweats from off the floor just as Dean walked through the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked, less as a question and more as an accusation.

“Sleeping in my room tonight,” I answered, not even looking him in the eye.

“Really? Sweetheart, come on.” He grabbed my shoulders to stop me as I started leaving.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply before letting the air out through my mouth.

“Dean,” I started as I looked up at him. “I don’t know how many more times I can have this ‘Jack’ conversation. I love you so, so much, and I really hope you know that-”

“I do,” he interrupted. “But-”

“Stop,” I commanded. “Just… stop. It’s my turn. I’ve tried to keep it all together because I know that everything’s been shit lately for all of us. It’s like one thing after another, and we’re all family, so we deal with it as a family. But seriously, I’m over the dramatics of it all. You’ve given Jack exactly zero chances since the day he was born, and considering he’s a toddler’s age, I’d say he’s doing pretty fucking well with the hand he’s been dealt.”

“Okay, first of all,” Dean started, his voice turning from irritation to rage. “My mother’s dead because of him, and there wasn’t even a body to burn, so fuck that. Second of all, don’t you dare tell me I’m being dramatic when you’re the one stomping out to sleep somewhere else without having a conversation with me. I walked in here and you immediately jumped into this. That’s not on me.”

“Sure. Yeah, tell me I’m the one losing patience here when you’re the one who just spent the last few minutes telling off your brother and your best friend for reminding you that someone else besides you has feelings!”

The two of us stared at each other for a moment before Dean exhaled sharply. “You know what,” he started, his voice returning to a normal volume but still sounding antagonistic. “I came in here to go to bed and sleep this shit off. So do whatever you want. I don’t fucking care.” He dragged his feet past me and to the bed, where he stripped down to his plain shirt and underwear before pulling back the covers and climbing in, turning so his back was facing me. “Get the light on your way out.” 

Once in my own room, changed and exhausted, I plugged my phone in and turned out the lights before settling into my own bed for the first time in a while. I felt a bit colder lying there alone, so I pulled the blankets up over my nose and twisted onto my side, curling myself into a ball to keep warm.

The silence was deafening, keeping me awake and tossing and turning as I struggled against the lack of Dean’s heavy breathing and light snoring. I drummed my fingers against the mattress, trying to lift the weight of the quiet room, but my attempt was futile, as the silence had lent a hand to the copious amount of thinking I’d forgotten I could do so late at night.

I thought of Dean and how gut wrenching it was to see him harden his already tough exterior after Mary’s death. After everything he’d been through in his life, the stages of grief only consisted of anger for him. At the beginning, Sam and I exchanged worried glances every time the anger would rear its ugly head, but after all this time, it refused to let up, and we all became a bit impatient with each other as the hellish world kept spinning. Yet every night, Dean and I would still wrap up in each other and let it all go for a moment, and I looked forward to that every time the sun began to set.

Thoughts of missing Dean turned to thoughts of concern for Jack. What was I supposed to do next? I’d hardly seen him the last few days. I didn’t know if he was eating or if he’d left his room or if he was even alive. 

I was at a loss, and I sighed, feeling dejected and rolling back and forth a couple more times before hearing my door slowly open. The light flicked on and I whipped my head around, sitting up slightly to see who it was. Before my very eyes, the young tortured nephilim jumped when he saw me and began to wiggle his fingers down at his sides anxiously.

“I am sorry,” Jack said lowly, his voice gravelly and heavy.

I pulled myself up to sit against the headboard. “Jack,” I said, blinking to adjust to the light. He stood in place, not wanting to move further into the room, but not making the decision to walk back out. “Why are you still up?” I asked, looking at the time on my phone. 1:13 AM.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I came to get a snack. Sugar always makes me feel better.” The boy looked at my dresser out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you were with Dean. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t, Jack.” He continued to stand still but relaxed his shoulders a bit at my reassurance. “Grab a couple things and come have a seat,” I said, patting the bed next to me.

I watched patiently as the slender kid slouched, curling into himself and staring at the floor as he found the knobs on my top drawer and pulled it open. His eyes widened a bit when he saw the new selection, and he rummaged for a few seconds before pulling out a king-size chocolate bar and an individually-wrapped cream-filled chocolate cake.

“Sorry I didn’t restock the nougat. I know that’s a favorite of yours.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, sitting down next to me and swinging his feet up onto the bed. “I like chocolate.”

I smiled at him. “Nice socks,” I said, gesturing down at the many faces of Scooby-Doo on his feet.

“Thank you,” he responded without smiling back. “They are Dean’s. Sam gave them to me when I was born.” His eyes went wide. “But he said not to tell, so forget I said anything.”

I laughed quietly, reaching up and wiping Jack’s hair away from his face.

“I’m glad you have them.” I watched the corner of Jack’s mouth twitch up a little, but I could see in his eyes how troubled he was as he watched his feet wiggle back and forth, lost in his thoughts.

He finally breathed in, as if nervous to speak, but let his thoughts out anyway. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Well,” he started, taking another breath. “I have a mother, but I don’t get to see her. And you take care of me, so you are kind of like a mother. And, well, my mother told me I was special and good and that I would change the world, but I don’t know what she would say now with everything I have done. And,” Jack paused as he fiddled with the chocolate bar wrapper. “Do you think I’m bad like Dean does?”

Jack’s words pierced my heart. I closed my eyes and swallowed, contemplating how afraid he was and how devastated he must be thinking I felt the same as Dean. My mind flashed back to Dean’s gun pointed at a kneeling Jack and the look on the boy’s face. He thought he deserved it.

I grabbed my pillow from behind me and set it down on my lap, patting the top of it as an invitation for Jack to lay down. He hesitated for a moment, but slid forward and rested his head on the pillow. I pulled the corner of my throw blanket out from underneath him and spread it over the top of him as he clung to the unopened chocolate sweets. While one hand rested on his shoulder, my other combed his hair back.

“Jack, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” I said, encouraging his attention. “There is not a single person in all of creation who knows you better than your mother did, including me. When she said you were good, she meant it. Before you were born, she knew she wouldn’t survive, but I’ve never met anyone with so much hope in the future, and that was because she knew the future would have you. You’ve got to believe that. You’ve got to cling to that. Okay?” He nodded in response.

“Now, you know I love Dean very much, but that doesn’t mean I always look the other way when he’s being a bonehead. He’s in a lot of pain, and he may blame you, but Jack, it is not your fault.” I looked down to see Jack squeeze his eyes shut, and a tear escaped over his nose and towards the pillow. The sight brought tears to my own eyes, and my voice wavered a bit as I continued speaking to him. “You and I, we’ve both unfairly lost out on things, but I’m glad we have each other. I’m always right here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I love you, kid,” I whispered back.

He kept his eyes closed, and I stroked his hair to sooth him as we both silently cried together. Soon, his breathing became heavier, and his grip on the sweets loosened. I propped the pillow up as I slid out from underneath it and gently laid it back down. He didn’t stir, so I took the chocolate bar and cake out of his grasp and moved them to the nightstand for him to see when he woke. Then, slowly and quietly, I walked to the door, looking back at Jack once more before turning out the light and leaving the door open a crack.

My mind racing, I wandered aimlessly through the bunker, passing bedroom after bedroom, jealous of the others for being able to sleep. I found myself first back in the kitchen, where some beer bottles still stood on the tabletop. I gathered them, emptying the remaining contents out, and tossed them in the trash. I grabbed a wash rag from a drawer and soaked it under warm water from the sink before wringing it out and using it to wipe down every surface in the room for good measure.

If only I could turn back the clock, maybe I could change something, and Jack wouldn’t be falling apart like this. Or maybe I’d know how to help. Or maybe, I could’ve stopped what happened to Mary to give Jack a fighting chance in this family.

I kept wandering, straightening things in a few of the rooms I entered, until finally, I dragged my way into the ‘Dean-cave.’ This room, too, was littered with beer bottles, and I noticed a couple of used plates stacked on top of each other leftover from the pie I had shared with Dean a few nights ago.

Dean.

The all-familiar feeling of fatigue washed over me as my mind reacted to the peaceful thoughts of the elder Winchester. Still slightly upset as I was, I knew the only way I’d get to sleep at a time like this was if I were next to him.

Without bothering to clean up the mess, I turned and found my way back into Dean’s room. He faced the wall and snored lightly, but the light from the hallway helped me see that his shoulders were tensed under his shirt. I sighed and tiptoed toward him, pulling back the covers and sliding into my side of the bed.

Dean’s light snoring halted, and I heard him swallow before taking a single deep breath.

“Sweetheart?” he inquired in a whisper.

“No, it’s Sam,” I joked sarcastically. “Duh it’s me.”

He rolled over and sighed, his hand finding my arm and running his lazy touch up to my shoulder. He moved his thumb back and forth and said, “Hey.”

“Hi,” I greeted in return, shifting closer to him. He wrapped me in a tight embrace and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You alright, baby?” I asked.

“Better now.”

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

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[kerryweaverlesbian]

2024, cawis created...

My annual self-review!! Yippee! My fics uploaded to ao3 was WAY WAY lower than previous years (2022 and 2023) which is not for lack of thinking about supernatural, but because I was doing a Masters for most of the year lol. Still, 28,816 words over 12 fics is nothing to sniff at! And that again doesn't include things only on tumblr or my many, many, many works in progress!

I will discuss the fics I posts, and then I will discuss all the projects I did for my Publishing Masters as a part 2 because I worked damn hard on them and this is a space for my personal reflection regardless of if anyone else can access them! But if you are interested in any of them and we've communicated before I'll send you them if I can lol <3 Let's go!!

The Year Of Small Relationships

Something about these little guys really compelled me this year.

Saint of the Smallest Sun Becky/Ambriel Becky thinks Ambriel is going to save her from the Apocalypse. Ambriel just wants to be left alone. The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.

When you eroticise the divine 🥳

Due to the continued blessings of the sapphicnatural community, I thought about women SO much last year. I sent a LOT of anon prompts to @spntoxicfemslashevent (honestly if I counted those asks as fics it might have pushed my wordcount up by another thousand lmao) but one of them in particular I held on to was this one!

I've talked about the writing process for this one a little already with my process of developing small characters but I have more silly things to say about it - I used some of Becky's ranting dialogue to slip in some playful digs at spnblr/general fandom discourse:

"Not that there's anything wrong with girls - I - I was such a big fan of Jo! You know, after it was clear she wasn't going to be a threat to the brother's relationship."  "The Michael/Lucifer angel stuff was never really my bag, I thought it was better when the boys were doing thematically resonant creature-features" "I mean, Sam, Sam Winchester. It's the [fake ID] where he lists his sex as female and his name as Sam Vincente - which, obviously, the coding...a boy wants what a boy wants, and sometimes that's a man in leather pants."

There are few things I enjoy more in the world than making up fandom discourse. I hold in my brain the knowledge of how every kind of fan would respond to any situation, including if you're in the Apocalypse and the most annoying forum mod you've seen in your entire life won't shut the fuck up about her angel OC that she CLAIMS is from Carver Edlund's later notes as if THOSE are canon. I really enjoyed writing Becky in this one, fully embracing the cringe of extreme fangirlism and digging into the feelings behind it (isolation, a desire for guidance, safely imagined eroticism, guarding yourself from shame however you can). I should put her in more things!

When shall we live, if not now? Daphne Allen and Emmanuel!Cas Daphne Allen's new husband asks too many questions. She tries her absolute best to ignore the answers.

Look at how efficient and compelling that blurb is. Chef's kiss. This one is about shutting down curiosity about yourself because of fear of what you might find (the fact that you might enjoy being masc!!!). I really like this one. I really like all of them lmao but I even more really like this one. """Daphne""" is longing but if "she" starts opening those doors, who knows what might come out. Not for nothing, this was the year I started introducing myself as a different name to more than just my LGBT groups ;P and everyone has been normal about it! Aside from one drunk guy but he was only mildly derisive lol idgaf

The Misplaced Stitch Jack and Castiel A brief look at Jack's taut relationship with being treated as a precious object.

Jack and Cas aren't exactly a minor relationship as such but. also they kind of are. they're nowhere near as explored in canon as I thought they were going to be! I place this one and When Shall We Live in the same mental category. Insular characters prompted to reflection by the confusing actions of Castiel, without him meaning to do this (lol). I love when I can twist an objectively nice and kindly meant statement from one character ("You are precious to me :)") into something that feels like a confirmation of the other character's worst thoughts about their relationship ("I will not be granted closeness unless I conform to his ideals of me"). My thoughts on Jack are very much influenced by @shallowseeker's and @soullessjack's thoughtful analyses of him <3

Tiger Stripes Destiel through the lens of DeanLisa Lisa asks about the handprint scar, and Dean doesn't know how to talk about Cas

I LIKE DeanLisa I think they were in love !!!! Dean's fucked up because his brother died and his new best friend bolted and Bobby starts going quiet (when Soulless!Sam turns up). You can romantically be in love with someone and it not work out. Anyway, I started getting more gorey graphic this year when describing Hell huh? I had some graphic violence in A Light Above Descending but I'm really starting to enjoy specifying it. Lol.

I do the old "there is a movie playing that is almost exactly the relationship drama that is about to unfold" in this one, with the cowboy movie.

God I was horny (positive)

I was hornier on tumblr itself but I did get some fics out about it

Don't Stop Don't Slow Destiel Cas is NOT prepared for how it overwhelming feels to have sex with the man he's in love with <3

This was based on a text post and I do NOT remember whose but I'm pretty sure I tracked it down and sent this to them eventually so it's alright. This one. Phew!! One of the writing block things I had was that I genuinely could not decide in any direction what Cas's genital situation should be but then a transmasc friend of mine mentioned that they wished there was more tdick porn on ao3 and so!!! I shrimply had to!! Shout out to anyone with a tdick. That's hot as fuck.

baby, you can drive my car deancaspala :) A loving examination of Dean's erotic feelings towards his car while he and Cas have sex in it.

I'm sooooo normal about machines you can send me gifs and videos of machines being delicately taken apart and I'll be completely unaffected and so so super normal and regular and normal. I got a really, really lovely comment on this a while ago that said it was part of the foundation of their view of transfem dean and it made me tear up :') there are other writers in this fandom who have opened similar mental doors for me!! (btw yous should all read the pain in the end is all in your memory by @explainslowly if you want to see part of myyy foundational transfem dean understanding). Dean's gender identity and lived reality is anything I feel like exploring at the time <3

Also. lol. Partly this is because I realised I haven't done "unarguably there are two cis dicks present in this sex scene" for a long time, and I like to have a diversity of writing experience!

The Meg Contingent

We gotta get her in somewhere don't we.

An Overcrowded Empty Room Meg and Sam The sampreg abortion fic

I've already talked about this one in detail here!

By Any Other Name Meg Ava Ruby What if the sadgirl demons were the main characters huh? What if Ruby was motivated in any way at all other than being an evil skank? I'll actually talk about this next year when it's complete (SURELY I'll have completed it by then...)

i guess you are good for something...2!! The Destiel Wedding!!! If you haven't read my silly meanstiel threesomes fic yet. what are you doing with your life honestly.

Another version of what this fic COULD have been was a jody POV where she's also a guest and is sniffing out the gossip of what the hell is going on between dean meg and cas BUT I missed the Meg POV and also it would suggest a furtiveness in their relationship that doesn't feel true. They're openly snogging on the dance floor and if you asked directly wtf is going on none of them could give you a straight answer. Meg would make something up, Cas would say what Meg told him to say (made up) and Dean would get flustered and tell you to butt out. There was also a potential scene of Meg smoking weed before the ceremony with Rufus but I couldn't get it to fit in the pacing lol.

Uh oh uncatagorised lonely boy

Let Me Count The Ways Dean suicidal ideation and Castiel's inability to talk to him about it

I kinda say everything I wanted to say on this one in the authors notes. Aside from! That this is a fic that spawned from starting a wip of Dean having an "I don't love you as much as you love me I can't stand to be loved so wholly" breakdown during destiel gay sex and when I got to Cas's response I couldn't make it work because I kept having Cas understand and be reassuring in a way that made sense to Dean in that moment and I was like. I gotta think about how I write Cas bc he's sooooooooo awful at advice and emotional support in canon sometimes.

END OF PART 1!

I didn't talk about two of the fics I published last year bc they're ongoing serieses that will all be little slice of life vingettes and they are what it says on the tins lol

I will repeat my reflection challenges for you from the 2023 reflection:

My challenge for you is to think about women falling in love with other women. Wow, beautiful, right? And also to think of ONE thing you did that you are proud of last year. Even and in fact especially if it's something you're not "supposed" to be proud of. Did you find something new you liked. Were you kind to someone. Were you kind to yourself when you didn't have to be. All these and more are things to take pride in.

Shout out to my friends and mutuals and to. frankly. dean winchester supernatural. MWAH.

[destieltropecollection]

DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 14 | First Responder AU

Open my eyes to you | @malicmalic

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,884 Main Tags/Warnings: Car accidents, Rescue, Meet cute, homeless Castiel, homeless Jack, Castiel is Jack's parent, Happy Ending. Summary: Dean had no idea that choosing to take the first actual walk in his life would change it forever. Based on a discord Server love & winchester writing challenge - Same Sentence Start: "He watches the tail lights flicker as the lake swallows the car." (Fear not, the Impala was not injured during this story. Can't say the same for good old Lincoln).

Emergency Call | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 4,686 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Dispatcher Dean, Single Parent Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Toddler Jack Summary: As a 911 dispatcher Dean gets a lot of emergency calls every single day. But the one he receives on this particular Friday afternoon might turn out to be different than anything else before.

Six Greys Exposure | @aaronthe8thdemon

Rating: Mature Word Count: 15,268 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Alternate Universe, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Soldier Castiel, Tragic Romance, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Hospitals Summary: Dean’s starting to feel sick, like stomach flu sick, but he doesn’t say anything. There aren’t enough rapid intervention crews, so now Benny, Dean and Aaron are assigned to that. Less than ten minutes later a mayday is called and the three of them have to climb the roof with a stretcher. It’s not easy to get where they need to go. There’s a metric fuckton of weak spots in the roof that they have to pick their way around, so it takes longer than Dean would like for them to reach the victims. It’s a two-man attack line crew, the one who called the mayday is sitting beside the hose and her buddy is lying down practically unconscious. Aaron helps the first firefighter stand up and head for the ladder. Dean and Benny haul the second one on the stretcher. Dean almost pukes into his mask, but he doesn’t, because he’s busy and it would just slow him down. He refuses to become a casualty.

Don't Let Go | @envydean

Rating: Mature Word Count: 28,578 Main Tags/Warnings: EMT!Castiel, mechanic!Dean, alcoholic!Dean, Alcoholism, Car Accidents, Hospitals, Recovery, PTSD, Descriptions of Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Trying to fall in love, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Dean Winchester’s life is a mess. Ever since his father’s death, a downward spiral has seen his occasional beer become something of a crutch. Then, a revelation has him going to see his brother in California—except he doesn’t make it and ends up in a nasty accident, destroying the Impala. Air rescue paramedic, Castiel, and his partner Benny are the ones to pull him out of the wreck and that’s just the start of it. He forms a tentative friendship with Dean and manages to convince him he needs help and that he can be there for Dean. It should have been all uphill from there—because getting sober is easy, right?—except it isn’t and their relationship is thrown into turmoil at the wrong time. Slowly, they learn to accept each other once again.

[nekoshi13]

You know, there's plenty to complain about wasted potential in characters, wasted story lines and the like but my biggest, hugest gripe with this show (beyond the homophobia but that's a different topic) is how much they wasted every archangel that wasn't Lucifer. And even Lucifer got absolutely butchered in season 15!

We met Raphael for so little that I can even think about what could have been done differently with him. Probably seeing more of the civil war in heaven would have helped both Raphael to feel more like an actual character instead of a figure stick placed to be Castiel's antagonist and Cas himself to not look like the asshole the writers tried to make him look like in s6

Gabriel was an amazing character that, like mostly everyone that wasn't Sam and Dean, deserved way more screen time that he got. But even with what we had, bringing him back in s13 to do absolutely nothing more than make Lucifer cry once and then killing him again was an absolute disservice to the archangel that died in the apocalypse facing his brother for the right reasons. He could have stuck around and if they really didn't want to have the power of an archangel on the side of the good guys then keep him depowered and let him process his trauma instead of healing in like 2 seconds

Michael... where do I even begin with Michael? The most powerful archangel, our Dean parallel in the celestial family, the obedient soldier that was still the nicest he could be to his vessels and I don't think he even had half an hour total of screen time. And let's be clear, I am not counting Apocalypse Michael here, this is about our world Michael, OG Michael. For starters we should have seen way more of him than we did. From season 11 onwards there were so many occasions in which the boys could have at least tried to talk to him AND THEY COULD DO IT but they never even tried. I do however love what they did with him and Adam when they finally left the cage, although I would have been the first one cheering them on if they went for revenge I think what they did makes clear just how different and not actually evil was Michael. I hate that even in the season where we know they are out there we barely see him, I would have loved to see more of his conflict about what his father did, seeing him grieve Adam (friendly or romantic, whatever is good for me at this point) and... well, here comes the biggest bad thing they did to him, I would have loved to see him stand up to his father, Michael deserved to do that, he was one of the angels who got most deeply screwed over by Chuck and he deserved to punch him in the face

And while in that topic... Lucifer. Lucifer was the archangel with the best arc, he was a great villain and the fact that the Mark was what made him like is in the first place made him actually sympathetic, when he told Michael he didn't want to fight him, the whole thing with Chuck I'm season 11 and then he realizing he had been played by his father in season 12 and wanting to prove he could do better was great. I loved what looked like a redemption arc for him because besides Michael, he also got incredibly screwed by their father. I hated that he turned on Jack like he did, I wish that whatever confrontation needed to happen at the end of season 13 would have been more out of being scared of AU!Michael and wanting to protect Jack even if he had to do it forcefully. The fact that Nick was somehow alive after his death was strange as fuck and I wish they had explained how exactly after he looked dead in S5 but regardless, the fact that he wanted Lucifer back I think says something about how he interacts with his vessels (when said vessel doesn't drag him back to his cage, I guess, sorry Sam, I love you). But biggest sin against him was how he went right back to Chuck like a dumbass in s15. S12 Lucifer, my beloved, he would never. He deserved to punch Chuck as much as Michael, I wish they had teamed up and punched Chuck together. Bet two archangels fighting god would have charged up Jack faster and would not have been as ridiculous as two humans being beaten up by god and being just mildly hurt at the end, they could still stand...

Anyway, the archangels deserved better, thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— THE LOVE LETTER COLLECTION : SAME BOOK BUT NEVER THE SAME PAGE

SUMMARY : part III of the love letter collection. still dreamwalking. chasing after someone who can destroy worlds. and dean is jealous of his variants. what could go wrong?

PAIRING : mario!dean winchester x peach!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : luigi!sam winchester, lush edryx (ofc), toad!castiel, jack kline 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, fluff, real physics, theoretical physics

WORD COUNT : 5.6k

A/N : a day to remember song title. this fills the dramatic death square for my @jacklesversebingo card. this was inspired by the second season of What if…? My siblings and I used to play Super Mario Sunshine on our GameCube so that’s what this is based on, too. And my physics degree is paying off! 😂 XXXXxx

It all started with Cas suddenly appearing within the Bunker, frantically searching for Sam, Dean, Jack, and Y/n. 

To be fair, it was three in the morning and everyone was asleep, so Cas had only found Jack passed out on the kitchen table after another round of Krunch Cookie Brunch in the middle of the night. 

The original plan for Jack was to try Y/n’s remedy for not being able to sleep. Warm milk. Of course, she’d meant in a glass. Then, he got hungry being there—surrounded by food, grabbed the blue box of sweet cereal and served himself once. After finishing his cereal, he still had some milk leftover, so he convinced himself easily that to finish the milk he needed one more serving. 

He got that from Dean. 

Cas sighed at the sight of him, but he was in a hurry. Like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, that’s what he felt like at that moment. So he shook Jack—rather than being gentle—who abruptly sat up, “I didn’t eat it!” He shouted sleepily, his eyes wide and surprised. “Oh, Cas. I thought you were Sam,” he whispered, rubbing sleep from his eyes, much like Dean did. 

“I need to find Sam, Dean, and Y/n,” Cas said distractedly.

“But… it’s late,” Jack stated, having flashbacks of Dean pointing a gun at him for waking him while he was deep asleep. “And Dean and Y/n-”

“I’m aware,” Cas interrupted Jack. “This is more important. They can have coffee.” 

“Erm,” Jack hesitated, but Cas was already making his way out of the kitchen, his beige trench coat billowing behind him. It reminded Jack of Snape, but he shook his head from the distraction and quickly cleaned up before he got scolded by Sam for being ‘unhealthy’. 

Meanwhile, Cas bursted through Sam’s bedroom, the door cracking loudly against the wall, that it alone woke Sam. The gun was quickly in Sam’s hands and the bullet that he’d sleepily fired grazed Cas’ shoulder. Cas pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the messy nest that was Sam’s hair. 

“Sam, I’ve got a case,” Cas declared bluntly.

“What the hell, man? It’s-” Sam looked towards his clock by the nightstand with squinted eyes, heavy with sleep. The time glared at him in green, made him groan and fall back into bed. “It’s three in the morning, couldn’t it wait?” Sam turned over onto his stomach, uninterested, and held his pillow to his face, knowing that Cas was not going to let him go back to sleep. 

“This is important. Every second that goes by, catastrophic things can occur,” Cas attempted to explain. 

“Yeah?” Sam asked sarcastically, at the end yawning. “That’s life. We’ll take care of it in the morning.” To emphasise that he was going back to sleep, he lifted his knee to the side and wiggled around until he was back in his original position. 

“I know that,” Cas enunciated with irritation, “this is really complicated and I’d like for all of you to be awake to hear what I have to say so that I don’t have to repeat myself.” Sam groaned loudly into his pillow and then sat up swiftly to glare at Cas.

“Oh my god,” he complained, combing his fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to fix it. “You know what? Fine, but if Dean gives you the cold shoulder for a month—again, don’t expect any sympathy from me,” Sam warned grumpily, getting out of bed to get ready to meet Cas in the library. 

Cas gave Sam a deadpan stare and walked out without a word to find Dean and Y/n.

When he made it to Dean’s room, Cas was far gentler with the door. He held it open rather than letting fly open and hit the wall, the way he let happen with Sam. He watched the two figures in Dean’s bed and tilted his head at the sight of Dean practically draped over his girlfriend’s back.

Cas let go of the door and stood there awkwardly trying to see better in the darkness. He could see that the sheets were a mess around them and Y/n was curled up slightly, nearly at the edge of the bed. Cas assumed Dean either pushed her all the way over there or that he was holding onto her so tightly so that she wouldn’t fall. Maybe both. 

Dean was snoring softly, had one arm wrapped tightly around her front and his legs were tangled with hers. Cas didn’t think it looked very comfortable for Y/n, but she was in a deep sleep, completely undisturbed by both the sounds coming from Dean, the lack of coverage with a warm blanket in the cool room, and the lack of personal space Dean was giving her. What a hypocrite.

Cas knew though, it was different when the two of them invaded each other’s personal space, than if it were him or someone else being that close to them. Dean would go ballistic if anyone else stood that close to her, not that she’d ever allow that to happen, she gets irritated easily by other people.

Cas found that strange, too. The way she despised certain traits or habits in others—she made it very clear, verbally—but forgave them in Dean. Perhaps that is love. Compromise. Chaos. Irrationality…

The lights in the hallway turned on and Cas knew it was Sam who turned them on and was now up properly. The light allowed Cas to see much better into Dean’s room, with the light pouring in from the hallway. 

Cas tried to think of something to wake them that would not make Dean and Y/n too angry. He looked around Dean’s room, clothes were strewn on the floor and Dean had his record player on, just static now that the needle was up. It didn’t take very long for Cas to deduct what had happened. Sex. 

They were both naked, Cas could see now. He flushed and averted his gaze, then quickly made his way to the record player, dropped the needle, and put the volume as high as it would go. Led Zeppelin’s Baby Come on Home blared through the room causing Dean to jolt up sleepily, finally disturbing his peacefully asleep girlfriend. 

She whined Dean’s name and Dean froze when he saw Cas standing by the record player. Cas stumbled and turned it off swiftly, smiling nervously at Dean who was now glaring at him. Part of Cas wanted to laugh at the state of Dean’s hair, one side was flat, the other side was a mess, and the top was just sticking up. 

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean whispered aggressively, struggling to lift the tangled sheets to cover up Y/n’s naked body. She turned over onto her stomach and threw her arms around Dean’s waist, grumbling for him to sleep again and hold her. Instead, Dean dropped his hand over her head, buried his fingers into her sex hair, and gently massaged her scalp. She hummed appreciatively and squeezed her arms around him gently.

“Uh… I’m sorry,” Cas apologised slowly. “It’s an emergency and I need her help. It’s about a case, we’ve been working on it together,” Cas explained, then dropped his eyes hesitantly to the small body tangled in Dean’s sheets. 

“What?” Dean asked, no longer playing with her hair. She groaned softly at the loss, so Dean started up again very slowly. “Since when? Why didn’t you guys tell me?” Cas sighed exasperatedly and Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sassiness exuding from his best friend. 

“Okay, fine,” she finally spoke up, struggling adorably to get up, not caring that she was flashing Cas with her naked body when she turned to face him. “Go, I’ll be there with Dean.”

“Woah, hey,” Dean complained, grabbing her breasts in his hands. She laughed and Cas only became more flustered. “Dude,” Dean said, silently holding a conversation with Cas.

“Right,” Cas averted his gaze and stepped backwards out of their room. “Just, please don’t have sex like you guys always do when we have something important to do,” Cas pleaded. Dean glared at Cas halfheartedly, feigning offence, but knowing very well that it was usually Dean who initiated it and delayed their appearance. 

Dean began to splutter a blush growing on his face. “We have never d-”

“Save it, Dean,” Y/n snorted softly with a laugh, “yes, we have.”  Cas nodded—tried and failed to hold back a smile—and left them to get ready. “I’m so sleepy,” she whined, leaning into Dean’s side. He slipped out from the embrace he had her in and ignored her pout to settle between her thighs with a smug smirk. 

He pushed her gently onto her back and leaned over her, giving her a big kiss on her forehead. She laughed, held his jaw gently in her hand to kiss him lazily, and pushed her fingers friskily into his already messy hair. 

He moaned softly and pulled away, snickering. 

“What?” She asked, brushing his hair with her hands and fingers to make it look better. Even if he looked adorable with it messy. She bit her lip and traced his cheekbone with her thumb. 

“We should be late, y’know, just to keep up with our tradition,” he grinned boyishly. She looked away from his freckles cheek and the cute eye-bag that was more prominent on this side of his face. She raised a brow, opening her mouth to say her piece, except she could only laugh. 

He scowled, leaning forward to press his face against her neck, and laid down on her to stop her laughter. Dean grabbed her thighs to lift them so she’d wrap them around his waist. He bit his lip and squeezed her tightly. She whined in protest, lazily and weakly attempting to push him off her. 

Her heart began racing and heat grew between her legs. The way he moved his lips down her neck, placing wet kisses across her skin, didn’t help her fight between what she wanted from him, and what Cas wanted from her. 

“You don’t look like you want me to stop,” he murmured with a smirk against her breasts. 

“I don't want you to,” she agreed quietly, “that’s why… I’m hoping you'd be nice to me and get off before we waste sweet time doing awesome… stuff.” 

He chuckled against her skin and lathed her nipple up in saliva, needily tugging at it before getting off her. He slid his hands down her sides and groaned at the sight of her, fighting with himself to get up and get changed. 

“I was just trying to wake us up,” he pouted, reaching beneath her to cup her ass and squeeze. “I just need five minutes,” he offered, lifting her hips up suggestively. Her heart leapt excitedly, her stomach flipping when he started to shuffle forward on his knees, his cock nudging her folds. 

“Nah, you can’t change your mind more than once,” she told him playfully, wagging a finger at him with a huge smile. She sat up to wrap her arms around his waist, trying to make him feel better, and pulled him with her as she got off the bed. He groaned and followed her reluctantly to get ready. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean chuckled dryly, leaning over the table with his palm on the surface, gazing at his girlfriend. “You’ve been working on the case the other me’s were talking about before we left?” She leaned forward and placed her hand over his, perfectly showcasing the ring he had given to her just three months ago.

She inhaled, then exhaled. Dean braced himself. He expected a lie, an explanation. 

“Yes,” she told him bluntly. He appreciated the truth, but he scoffed, and gripped her hand—the one with the ring on it. He brushed his thumb gently over her knuckles, his verdant eyes wide, filled with confusion and hurt.

“We’ve never had this problem before,” Dean frowned at her, it made her tilt her head in regret, “it’s why Sam, and Cas, and literally everyone keeps you out of plans if it involves lying to me…” Dean paused and released her hand gently, realisation dawned on him. “It was that other me, right? That’s why it’s different…”

Sam quickly began to escort Cas and Jack out of the library, the three of them moving out quietly to give them space. Neither of them said anything about their departure, instead Y/n took Dean’s hand again.

“Look,” she sighed, tugging him to stand between her legs. “No matter what reason I give for hiding this from you, you’re gonna poke holes into my logic, and I’m gonna realise you’re right…” She looked up at him, opened his palm, kissing the callouses there lovingly. “We’re in this together now, I should’ve thought about that before hiding this from you. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean cupped her face with both of his hands, taking her words into consideration as he looked into her earnest, soft eyes. He’d never been lied to by her, which was exactly why he couldn't help the hurt in his chest. Still, he leaned forward and kissed her on her lips, slowly, barely feeling her response, before pulling away with his eyes closed. 

“Don’t do it again,” he murmured, sliding his hand down her neck. He brushed his thumb against her collarbone, gazing down at the ashamed expression on her face. It didn’t make him feel better, he knew something was off the past month, but he thought it was the wedding plans that were distracting her.

She placed her hand over his and nodded wordlessly.

“I’m gonna go get them,” she told him quietly, squeezing his hand before getting out of his grasp and walking away to give Dean a few minutes to think and let the information sink in. 

Dean watched her go and took the seat she got up from as he thought about what she’d done. It’s not like… she’d be unfaithful. He knew she would never do that. And she knew him so well she didn’t give an excuse, but he’d like to hear one now, just to understand why she didn’t let him know.

“Okay.. so, the Dean stuff was good to know,” Sam breathed in and then exhaled as he entered the room with Cas, Jack, and Y/n. “But… I mean… whatever Lush is doing is… kinda confusing. It’s Lush, right?” Sam asked, giving his brother a glance to make a quick assessment of his mood.

“Yes,” Cas answered. 

“So, I can use jars of sand as a metaphor or the human body metaphor, which one?” Y/n asked Sam, then glanced at Dean with a tight smile. He gave her a soft one in response. 

“Start with the sand, and if we don’t understand the first one, try the human body,” Sam answered for Dean. She excitedly clapped her hands together and stepped towards where both can see her. 

“Well, let’s say one grain of sand is our current universe: all the stars, the galaxies, dimensions, y’know the makeups of one single universe,” she began, pinching her fingers together. “But if you have a jar of sand, that’s a multiverse. A second grain of sand would be the universe with Hunter Corp, and a third grain of sand would be the universe Micahel destroyed. Still with me?” She stopped waving her hands around, her eyes drifting away as she became engrossed with her explanation. 

“Yeah, yeah… grains of sand as an alternate reality, universe, parallel or whatever…” Sam quickly replied, almost with the same enthusiasm as her. Dean wished he could join in, but part of him was still hung up on her omission. 

“Yes, exactly,” she smiled at Sam. “Well, a whole shelf of jars would be the omniverse. Every multiverse-”

“Every multiverse? Like… what do you mean?” Sam interrupted, frowning. He was clearly overwhelmed with excitement as he ran his fingers through his long hair, hazel eyes adrift before focusing on her once more. 

“Well, one jar of sand would be our multiverse. A second jar of sand would be… the Doctor Who Universe, ya know? And a third would be… a Hunger Games universe. Every jar of sand would be a movie, show, book. Oh, it’s so awesome,” she sighed, leaning over the table with both her hands flat on the wooden surface.

Cas and Jack stared between them, dumbfounded. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s… a lot,” Sam sighed, pulling a chair out to sit down. He thought quietly to himself, chewing on his lip. “You said… every book, does that include maybe.. short stories?” He asked suddenly, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. She lifted a brow.  

“Yes..? You have something specific in mind?”

“You know… the stories people write about… me… and Dean?” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Y/n burst out laughing after hearing the question, almost ignoring the disgust on Sam and Dean’s faces. 

“Gross, man,” Dean grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest, looking away.

“Okay, sorry,” Y/n brought herself to say between laughter. She wiped tears from her eyes and dried her fingers on her jeans. “No, yeah, that’s a good question,” she sighed with an amused expression, “anyway… no, those types of stories exist outside of the main multiverse, floating in the omniverse. They’re typically unstable—fleeting, and they collapse in on themselves,” she explained sincerely, an expression of relief while over Sam’s face.

“How come?” Sam inquired, leaning over the table with his fingers entwined together.

“Well, back to jars of sand. The jars are sealed; that makes it an isolated system—nothing gets in and nothing gets out. Nothing new can be created besides what’s already inside. The omniverse, however, is not an isolated system. When someone creates a book, movie, show, or whatever… if it’s… you know.. Popular and strong enough to not collapse in on itself in the omniverse-”

“If we could get to the main point…” Cas pleaded, interrupting their conversation. She looked over at Cas and pouted playfully—it almost made him laugh. She focused anyway, with a roll of her eyes. 

“Right, well, Lush Edryx is breaking those ‘isolated system’ rules by hopping multiverse after multiverse. None of us knows what she's trying to find, but she keeps destroying everything in her quest—or almost destroying everything—which means we need to stop her,” Y/n got to the point, staring at Cas with a glint of mischief. 

“How did she get so powerful?” Sam asked, gazing from her to Jack.

“Well, every multiverse has its own God, Darkness, Lucifer… and all that… Jack thinks that for Lush’s multiverse, the Darkness gave her the ability to travel from multiverse to multiverse. We just can’t find out what they’re looking for. We just know where she’s currently headed. Well, Cas and Jack know,” she started to ramble, carefully scratching the table with her nails mindlessly.

“How can we help if none of us has those kinds of powers?” Sam questioned, leaning back in his chair. 

“Well, technically Quetzalcoatl is my descendant, which means Jack can make it so that I can hop multiverses too,” Y/n mumbled thoughtfully. 

“Who now?” Dean finally spoke up. 

“Please, no more questions,” Cas begged once more, his head tipping back in irritation. 

Sam chuckled, leaning forward again. “How can we help?”

“Well, we can possess our multiverse variants and omniverse variants, and they already gave me permission so… what do you guys say?” Y/n asked, drumming the table with her fingers enthusiastically.

“Let’s do it,” Sam shrugged, looking over at Dean who nodded in agreement.

“I see why you were excited,” Dean grumbled, poking the green grass with a stick. Sam looked up at the bright blue sky with squinted eyes. Cas and Y/n looked ahead, eyes peeled for what they were searching for. For who they were searching for. 

“Hmm?” She asked, looking down at Dean in his Mario outfit. She grinned once their gazes met and he rolled his eyes at her, a cute smile on his face. No words had to be spoken, she knew that he knew it amused her to finally be taller than him. 

“So, he’s taller than you in your universe?” Cas asked, taking her attention from her quieter-than-usual boyfriend. Well, it wasn’t their Cas, it was this universe’s version of Cas, Toad. She smiled down at him brightly, it felt amazing to do so. 

“Yup,” she said, putting emphasis on the ‘p’. “And you’re way cuter here. I could take a bite out of you,” she snickered, lifting her pink dress as she walked down the hill awkwardly with Dean, Sam, and Cas. Or should she say, Mario, Luigi, and Toad? That would be confusing because they look nothing like the originals, except for Toad, Cas, whatever. 

“Please don’t,” Toad pleaded, frowning. Dean took her hand to help her down, it made her flush. He looked so cute. 

“Of course not,” she murmured warmly, squeezing Dean’s hand. Before he could look at her, she spoke up. “So, how far until we get there?” She asked impatiently, looking around endless mushrooms of all colours, shapes, and sizes. 

“Not too far,” Cas reassured her.

“How come we didn’t just come in our normal bodies?” Dean asked, jogging to catch up with her. “Wouldn’t it be easier? We’d have an advantage in our original bodies.” She slowed down, brushing her fingers with Dean’s for him to take if he wanted. He took her hand fully, holding it gently in his, a single touch making her breathless. 

“Well, puppeteering or possession is less dangerous since it’s not a permanent link to the realities we go to. This way, there’s a smaller chance that we’ll cause destruction… y’know unlike Lush who’s actively invading what’s supposed to be an isolated system.” Dean mulled over her words silently, squeezing her hand. 

“Well, we won’t have to fight Boswer or anything, right?” Sam asked, moving her attention away from Dean and to him. 

“No fighting. We’re going in the opposite direction to find a Mega Mushroom,” Cas reassured him, still on high alert for any movement from sneaky mushrooms. 

“Which is what Lush is after according to… Jack and Cas,” Y/n added, scoping the area with Dean. 

They’d been searching for a while now. Long enough for her to have become bored with her surroundings, the thrill of feeling, seeing, smelling, tasting… all of everything amazing around her had died as the search for the Mega Mushroom began to take longer than she would’ve liked. 

She even went back to thinking about wedding cake flavours. Dean’s so… adorable. He wants a confetti cake. She’d indulge him in any way possible, but she was torn between serious flavours such as honey, strawberry and rhubarb, and white chocolate raspberry. 

And the colour scheme; Dean’s thinking of a soft pink, blush, watermelon, salmon… but all she can think of is matching everything to the green of his eyes, the gold of his freckles, the honey of his hair… completely ethereal colours that symbolise his beauty and her love for everything that he is.

The guest list wasn’t a problem at all, for obvious reasons, and neither was the music, but the location, the reception… If she could just stop being so worried about Lush, the omniverse, all the Deans, and everything else, she was sure she could help Dean out a little more. He was doing a fantastic job on his own—which wasn’t surprising. Of course he’d adapt perfectly to the situation-

“Oh, shit,” Dean whispered, tightening his grip on her hand to stop her from walking. She froze, her focus returning with the rustle in the tall green grass besides Dean. 

“Princess, Mario has to capture it,” Toad explains, “erm, I mean, Dean,” he corrected himself quietly, prying the lovers’ intertwined hands apart as the rustle got further away. 

Dean nodded, looking to his girlfriend who smiled at him encouragingly, before he quietly began sneaking through the grass, rapidly getting accustomed to his surroundings and his body. 

“He’s shorter than me here, more than usual,” Sam joked from behind her. She giggled quietly, turning back to look at Sam dressed in a Luigi outfit. He was once more, taller than Dean, but not taller than her. He had a silly smile on his face, pleased with his joke—as any sibling would be. 

“He could probably still beat us in a fight,” she teased, climbing mushrooms to get to the biggest one. Sam and Toad followed her to the highest point, trying to find the red of Dean’s cute little hat in the waves of long green blades. 

“Good point,” Sam laughed once he stood beside her. “Over by that butt looking mushroom,” Sam pointed to where Dean was pouncing on something and jumping. She laughed at Sam’s accurate description of the mushroom, at Dean once she found him again running in circles. 

To live far away from her world would be nice. This place seems nice. But the last thing she wanted was to kill innocent lives and destroy innocent worlds. Had she lost everything the way that other Dean did, she’d imagine she’d commit a billion atrocities to find her happiness—even if it was wrong. Is that what Lush was doing? Trying to find happiness? 

This was not the way to go, but then, she’d be a hypocrite to argue against it out loud. She knows in her heart just what she’s willing to do for her family, for Dean, for those she loves… She has the power, the opportunity to take what she wants. It might be worse than what Lush is doing. 

“Guys?” Sam asked to get hers and Toad’s attention. He got closer to the edge before jumping down and running towards Dean, calling his name multiple times. 

It was only afterwards, when she looked away from Dean that she saw a much larger rustle within the grass. Large enough to be human-human rather than video-game-human. It was headed towards the same orange mushroom Dean was after, but Dean noticed the rustle, too. 

Y/n quickly made her way quickly to help the two brothers, with Toad shouting some advice to her, which was pretty helpful in reminding her that she could use stuff from this world to help Dean and Sam. She slapped grass away from her face and lifted her pink dress so she wouldn't trip on it, running as fast as she could on heeled boots.

Dean abandoned the Mega Mushroom and Sam was close behind to catch what she figured could only be another Toad or Lush. A set of piercing blue eyes and a head of white hair rose from the green grass, removing a Toad as a suspect. It was Lush, who was focused on the Mega Mushroom while attempting to evade Dean, but when she noticed she’d been spotted, she tackled the Mushroom, gripping it by its leg before shoving it into her satchel aggressively.

Lush ran from Dean, towards the closest green pipe to escape from them, but before she could jump in, Y/n threw an ice ball at her from the pocket of her dress. The ice grew upwards, trapping her legs to the ground. She pulled something from her bag, a jar full of brown sludge and threw at Dean, the closest to her.

The glass broke at Dean’s feet. He stopped too late, causing the brown mud to splash over him. Y/n threw a second ice ball at her feet, watching it grow higher up Lush’s torso. Y/n was closer to Dean who started to grunt in pain, the brown mud sticking to him no matter how much he tried shaking it away. 

While Toad finally caught up to them and tended to Dean by pouring water onto him, Y/n and Sam pried the bag away from Lush.

“Give it back!” She shouted, the ice cracking at her torso, but Y/n was quick to create a portal a few feet away, and threw the bag into it. It shut immediately after the bag fell through, which made all the fight slip from Lush. 

It was as if she only now realised they were all there. She analysed them curiously, silently—confused more than anything. She didn’t recognize them, which was good. It’s why Jack and Cas didn’t come along, she’d recognise them.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked, stepping back as the ice cracked more and more, falling to the grass and dirt where it slowly melted. Instead of answering, she broke out of the ice and jumped into the pipe before Y/n or Sam could stop her.

“God dammit, that shit hurts!” Dean complained loudly. “I’m pretty sure it’s fiery, acidic shit! It’s brown!” He continued to whine, shoving away the bottle Toad kept using to squirt water on him, washing away the muck completely.

“Dammit,” Y/n muttered, but brushed it off to check on Dean who was still wincing dramatically, curled up on the ground while Toad searched his backpack. Was that thing bigger on the inside? She kneeled beside him and smiled down at him, taking his hand in hers. “You’re gonna be fine,” she reassured him, lifting his hand to her cheek.  

“I forgive you. You know that?” Dean coughed, softening her smile. “I can’t stay mad at you, I love you so much. But I need to know why you hid it from me.” He groaned once more, clutching his stomach with his free hand, bringing her face down. She kissed his forehead rather than his lips, bumping the red hat off his head with a nudge of her nose. 

She indulged him as she squirmed and wriggled on the ground. With a sigh and a thought sweep over his grimacing face, she responded: “Because… I know you, Dean. You’d throw yourself into the case and then blame yourself for every little bad thing that happens. You’d be unhappy and pressured, and… you’d sacrifice yourself for the whole damn world. I hate that. So I decided to hide it from you because… I’d rather you be stressed out by cake flavours and colour schemes… you know? Pressured by the guest list, the location, and the music… I just want you to be happy, but… I should have been honest, I know, Dean… I truly had your best interest at heart,” she apologised once more, partially amused by Dean who was now laying on his side, squirming despite the sludge being nowhere in sight, absorbed by the dirt. 

He looked up at her lovingly, despite having a somewhat different face, it was cute. He was cute. Maybe cuter, with those giant green eyes full of admiration. A flush on his cheeks. She hadn’t looked at herself, but the way he looked at her, more animated, made her feel like a whole universe.

“Fuck Lush,” he whispered, “fuck the Monument, and the omniverse, and heaven, and the monsters, and everything else that tries to get in my way. In our way. I don’t care about the job. Or the mission, or whatever the hell else there is. I don’t care that I’m afraid all the time. I don’t even care that you’ll outlive me. All I know is that right now—as I exist in the same time and space as you, right now and forever, I want to be with you-”

“Don’t tell me all of this when you’re dying,” she interrupted his emotional speech, which made him pout. Toad, or Cas, gave her a heart from his backpack after a few minutes of digging through it, and she interrupted Dean halfway through his speech by shoving it into his mouth. Dean’s brows furrowed, he chewed slowly, and gulped down the heart. 

“That’s one way to shut me up,” Dean chuckled after swallowing. Dean slowly sat up, looking at Toad, Sam, the love of his life, then scooped her up in his arms.

“You’re wet,” she giggled, hugging him back. He buried his face in her neck, laughing with her.

“I usually say that to you.” Dean kissed her neck, then pulled away as Sam groaned in disgust. 

“You’re right,” she murmured, burying her fingers in his soft hair. “Everything that you said… I feel that way, too. I’ve got all this information in my head that I didn’t have before and I’m ancient in ways that I just don’t feel like I am anymore and.. I know what I want, I know what I need… and I’m not gonna let this, Lush, or anyone else stop me from trying to get it.” She pulled away and smiled at him, remembering they were in different bodies. “Well, I mean… I’d like your consent… but I already know how you feel, so really, I just need you to trust me.”

Instead of answering her, he leaned forward and kissed her glossy, pink lips. One chaste, long kiss that made her smile, fluttery, warm, and breathless.

“Feels weird kissin’ you here,” she mumbled against his mouth.

“You’re still a great kisser,” Dean pulled away with a smirk.

“We didn’t get to stop Lush, or even get to talk to her, but at least we’ve intercepted her satchel…” Sam interrupted their moment. They smiled at each other before turning to Sam. Dean stood up, then helped Y/n up off the wet ground.

“Jack will make sure she can’t come back here…” She reassured Sam, taking Dean’s hand, she took one last look around. Toad smiled at her, a silent goodbye. “Let’s go home.”

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[bloodsalted]

@qapsiel || oh this is coming. i told you. || no i'm not sorry.

[AGONY] - Dean rescues Cas from the hands of the enemy, and finds him in terrible shape. 😇

the room where cas was taken from him? it's one that he's avoided taking every damn precaution he can to turn a blind eye to the slimmest chance he might see those four walls ever again. all but one night. the next one. where he tricked himself into thinking that, maybe, if he showed up and called for him enough--the previous night would simply go away and like some fucking magic that doesn't exist in his world (because why would it? why would he get even that much of a god damn BREAK?)--cas would be standing there. coughed up by the ink and black and NOTHING that he willingly let take him shattering every piece of dean and what they had in the process. because why? because he loved him. as much as dean loved him back.

he can't get the feeling of cas's skin off his hands. he doesn't want to. the last touch. the last whisper of i love you, too against the angel's mouth as the worst nightmare he could think of happened in front of his eyes and he was powerless to stop it. even his hands that gripped cas's face, that desperately clawed for and missed his shoulders. felt like they betrayed him. THEY KEEP FEELING THAT WAY. even now. in all the time it's taken him to figure out HOW. in all the time's he's gotten down on his hands and knees and prayed or screamed until his voice was raw and torn and sam heard and came running to JACK that he give him some sorta sign. some sorta power to take that day back! that he'd give up the rest of his decades on earth (if you could count that high..who knows how much time he's got?? OR WHAT IT'S WORTH) for just another week. another month. another YEAR (just one) to have cas back. where he belongs. back WHERE HE BELONGS.

to all the people we've lost along the way.

only he couldn't accept that. he couldn't rest. he couldn't sleep. tried to have his own sorta funeral that was bullshit come a few hours later. he trashed his room. he threw insults, in his mind and outloud, at the boy he loved if he isn't going to fucking LISTEN then what good was ANYTHING FOR? until he thought his heart couldn't break anymore. and that's when it came to him. what to do. where to go. and that he'd bleed for it if he had to. so? that's where he is now. standing in that room. staring at the empty spot where cas was dragged off to with a blade in his hand that feels so heavy, he doesn't know if he can keep hold of it for long. dean drops to his knees. 'maybe not today... but someday.. TODAY IS SOMEDAY.' like some force outside of himself is in control. the blood that swells out of his cut palm puddles freely from the cut as the blade hits the floor. he paints in his own shades of reddish black brown markings that come to him without even a thought as to what they might mean. he doesn't know. but there's a warmth in his chest and a glow to his eyes that illuminates the floor in a shade that only reminds him of their son.

the same light begins to fill the room. and there's a warmth on his shoulder that pulls him up and pushes him forward towards it. it's so bright that he has to squint his eyes. so blue and white and that guiding hand simply pushes him FORWARD into it. and past that? BLACK. thick air so heavy he can barely move his limbs. he drips blood as he walks. a steady trail that bursts with color instead of rotting into brown in his wake. it follows him. step by step. even as the muddy dark battles against him. he smells of ozone and honey. beer and pie. and that scent reaches out like a coil around the angel trapped in the dark. it curls around his mind and soothes him as if it's a touch beckoning him to seek out the source. a voice in castiel's mind. not dean's.. but someone else he loves. 'you don't deserve to be here, castiel. go.' and that's when dean's steps can be heard. little puddles of light bead behind him still. brightening cas's NIGHT like the stars of the big dipper. "CAS?!" dean's hand clasps his shoulder. marking it as he was once marked. glowing brilliantly bright. all the warmth and love and LIGHT of family there to bring him HOME.

HE FOUND HIM.

[meggie-stardust]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to the ever lovely @lucky-bishop for the tag! <3

How many works do you have on ao3?

74! Which feels both like a lot and not that much at the same time.

What's your total ao3 word count?

270,119?!

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now primarily Teen Wolf and I recently revisited my first fandom of Gundam Wing. I've also written a ton for BBC Merlin, Percy Jackson/Heroes Of Olympus, BBC Sherlock, Harry Potter, Newsies and random other things...

Top five fics by kudos:

Act of Man | BBC Merlin | Arthur/Merlin

Nightmares | PJO/HoO | Percy/Jason

Looking for the Thing We Lost | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

Here I Am (Stuck in the Middle With You) | PJO/HoH | Percy/Jason

Know How A Man Becomes a Beast | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

Do you respond to comments?

Yes, on all of my stuff from the past few years. There are older fics that I've opted not to respond to comments on for varying reasons, but I do read them all.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

When I have angst, I like to have it with a happy ending, but I would probably say this fliclette I wrote based on the prompt: "Can you do a Jasercy fic where Jason is trying to comprehend the fact that Percy's gone, preferably death, but it doesn't have to be."

A Slow Deep Panic | PJO/HoO | Jason/Percy

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I really like the end of Stuck Between Stations. After putting Stiles and Peter in the Wild Hunt and in time loop, the least I could do was give them a happy ending.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not hate, but I have gotten weird comments. I usually just ignore if they are just odd, but I have also deleted comments that are boarding on hate.

Do you write smut?

Yep!

Craziest crossover:

Aside from one HP/Sherlock fic that was co-written with my bestie and that we both abandoned, I don't really do long form crossovers (and that one wasn't crazy anyway). That said, there was a tumblr prompt game years ago, that was for 3 sentence fics and almost every prompt I got was a crazy crossover:

Dean and Castiel. Fight Club

MJN crew (bonus points for including Herc Shipwright). Supernatural hunters.

Sherlock/John. Teenagers working at Mooby's (View Askewniverse).

Jack/Spot, Night Vale AU.

Arthur and Eames. Exorcism.

You can read all of these and a few others: 3 Sentence Fic Collection. And actually, this was a fun trend, we should bring it back.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, and knock on wood it never happens.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A few actually, and it's always so, so, so flattering:

Acts of Man was translated into Chinese

Black Sails in the Sunset was translated into Português

Looking for the Thing We Lost was translated into Russian

This is a perfect time to say that I am always open to my fics being translated, podficced, remixed, etc. Just let me know so I can gush about it!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, the aforementioned abandoned HP/Sherlock fic, but it's been ages. @punchedbymarkesmith and I have kicked around some collab ideas, which I think would both be a blast and also for a potentially niche audience. Maybe 2024 is the year this happens!

All time favourite ship?

Steter is the one I've stuck with the longest, but I do have a few that I will always return to in the same way you might eat a comfort meal.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Look, I really, really want to finish It's Only Forever. I have like 1, maybe 2 chapters left. But it's been so long and I feel like my writing has changed, and idk. Every year I say I'm going to work on it, and every year I don't... le sigh.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm really good at finding a small moment in canon and then diverging from that. I also think I'm good at authentic dialogue and I think I'm pretty good at world building.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action/fighting. Keeping things short unless it's a drabble/other restrictive format.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I am not fluent enough in any language other than English to do this confidently. Instead, I would write something like:

Stiles cursed at them wildly in Polish.

or

Peter responded in French, then turned back to Stiles and resumed their conversation in English.

First fandom you wrote in?

Gundam Wing. All of my old fic from *cough* 20+ years ago is lost to the annals of time (actually some is still on archived GW 1x2 sites if you look hard enough). And if you are one of like 7 people who remember my username, you can find my Newsies and Harry Potter fic (my next two fandoms) still on ffn. After I got out of a bad relationship that kept me from my own interests, including fandom, I returned with BBC Sherlock fic, which you can still find on AO3 if you scroll to the beginning of my profile.

Favorite fic you've written?

Gosh, I feel like this changes all the time, but I am particularly proud of At This Truth We Have Arrived. I loved exploring certain aspects of Peter's character, and doing a different take on Nogistune Stiles. I was also able to incorporate a lot of different themes and elements into it, as well as get my own closure with Monroe, something that has bugged me since the finale. Plus, I think I was able to accomplish a reveal that would add extra elements if anyone went back and re-read the story (even if I somewhat show my hand if anyone paid attention to the epigraph).

I have no idea who has done this yet, since I sat on this for a bit... so no pressure tags for @lolahardy @mirrorthoughts @myletternevercame @punchedbymarkesmith @midmorning-bomb @like-lazarus

[noxemma]

(Not) Too Sweet for Me

Word Count: 2,376

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Fluff, Just all the fluff, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Scheming Sam Winchester, Idiots in Love, silly and sweet, Sam Winchester is a mastermind, Sam Winchester is So Done with Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Self-indulgent fluff, No Beta, my only excuse is that this started as an incoherent and semi-delirious text message

Summary: “Dude! How come Cas gets to pick the music?”

“Well, Sammy, he actually helped with dinner, so he gets a say and I happen to like a little Taylor every once in a while.” Dean retorts but he can’t quite meet his brother’s glare.

OR

Dean and Cas are listening to Taylor Swift as they make dinner. Sam complains and is subjected to even more Taylor Swift so he makes them listen to Too Sweet as revenge, although it doesn't have the results he thinks it will (or does it?).

“We’re back!” Sam shouts as he and Eileen make their way toward the bunker kitchen.

“You’re just in time, the burgers are almost done. Hunt went okay? No issues or anything?” Dean raises his voice to be heard over the music playing through the speaker on the counter.

“Yeah, it was just a vengeful spirit. An easy salt and burn cleared it right up.” Eileen answers while Sam rolls his eyes and throws a megawatt bitch face at Dean.

“Taylor Swift? Really, Dean?” Sam groans.

“Hey! The cook is like the driver, which means that I get to pick the music and you get to sit down and shut your cakehole,” Dean waves the knife he’s using to cut tomato menacingly across the metal counter. “Or you can make your own food and I can dump your southwest bean burgers in the trash where they belong.”

Sam turns an indignant face toward Eileen, but she just laughs.

“Sorry, Sam. I actually agree with Dean here. Plus, I like her songs too.” Dean gives her a wink and signs thank you while Sam huffs in frustration and slumps into a seat at the table across from Cas.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m the one who requested Taylor Swift. Jack and Claire have been listening to her a lot recently in preparation for the concert. I didn’t like it at first, but I must admit that some of the songs are very catchy and pleasing to listen to.”

“Dude! How come Cas gets to pick the music?”

“Well, Sammy, he actually helped with dinner, so he gets a say and I happen to like a little Taylor every once in a while.” Dean retorts but he can’t quite meet his brother’s glare.

Sam narrows his eyes, looking between Dean, clearly hard at work in the kitchen, and Cas, clearly just sitting at the table. “Oh yeah? How exactly did Cas help with dinner, ‘cause it looks like he’s just sitting around like the rest of us.”

“Dean, it’s okay. He’s right, I haven't really done anything to help.” Cas gets up and plucks Dean’s phone off the counter to switch the music. Before he can even get in the numbers of Dean’s passcode (222967) the phone is plucked from his hands and deposited into Dean’s pocket.

“He’s my emotional support since you two decided you wanted to go on a hunting date and didn’t invite us.” Dean emphasizes his point by sticking out his tongue. “So, we’re at least going to finish the songs Cas queued or I’ll purposely burn your bean patties, capiche?”

Cas shuffles awkwardly back to his seat.

"Ughhhhh, fine,” Sam groans, dropping his head to the table in resignation.

“Don’t let him fool you. He listens to Taylor Swift with me, and he enjoys it,” Eileen mouths to Dean.

“Oh, I know.” Dean mouths back with a grin and a wink.

After a few more songs, Dean finally tells Sam he can join the jam session and add songs to the queue. Sam thinks for a minute before he starts grinning and typing furiously.

“Hey, hey! Don’t make me revoke your privileges.”

“What? I haven’t done anything.” Sam blinks back at him, the picture of innocence, but Dean can practically hear the yet that Sam didn’t say.

“Uh, huh. Sure. Just for that: Cas you have another request?”

“Oh, uh,” Cas’ eyes dart toward Sam.

“Don’t worry about him, in fact, don't even look at him," Dean tells Cas over exasperated moose noises, "What do you want?”

“Would you mind listening to Shake It Off again?” Cas asks softly and Dean feels his heart melt a little. Cas has already queued that one several times today, but Dean finds that the repetition doesn’t bug him like it normally would, especially not when Cas begins dancing without realizing it.

“Not at all. I like that one too.” Dean knows his words come out too soft; he tries to recover before anyone else can notice, "You feel free to add stuff too, Eileen.”

“Thanks, but I’m actually enjoying your and Cas’ playlist,” Eileen admits, sticking her tongue out at Sam when he lets out a groan.

Sam’s pick begins playing as Dean preps the buns for when the patties get done. It starts out low and slow and folky and he’s sure he’s never heard it before but the singer sounds familiar. Dean sees Eileen and Sam signing back and forth but it’s too fast and beyond his limited ASL knowledge, so he just shrugs it off. He might have skipped the song if he’d known that Eileen was telling his brother You're the worst. You really shouldn’t push them or Sam’s reply It’s for their own good.

“Who sings this?”

“Hozier. It’s new.” Sam answers, giving him a strange look.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize he’d released new stuff.” Dean finds himself thinking it sounds more like Eileen’s taste in music than Sam’s, but it’s not bad. “What’s it called?”

“Too Sweet,” Sam replies casually. Dean’s too busy typing it in to notice the conspiratorial look that Eileen gives Sam.

Then the chorus hits and Dean stills for a moment.

I take my whiskey neat,

My coffee black and my bed …

Dean lets out a huff of laughter when he sees Cas whip his head toward Dean and raise his brow with amusement.

“Ha, same! Do-” Dean starts to jokingly ask Sam if he thinks the song was written about him but the next lyrics steal the words.

You’re too sweet for me,

You’re too sweet for me ...

Dean’s eyes immediately seek out Cas, who is looking right back at him with longing that he quickly tries to hide. Dean’s cheeks heat up and he can’t bring himself to look away even when Cas does.

“Dean! Careful the burgers are gonna burn!”

Sam's shout startles Dean into action and he flips them just in time. He quickly decides to focus entirely on serving up the food and avoiding blue eyes, which works until the middle of the second verse.  

You know you’re bright as the morning,

As soft as the rain,

Pretty as a vine,

As sweet as a grape

Once again, he’s compelled to lock eyes with his angel. His mouth opens to try and make a joke of it, but nothing comes out.

Sam and Eileen share a knowing look and begin signing again; Cas and Dean are too lost in each other’s eyes to notice.

The song ends and the room feels far too heavy for the upbeat sound of Shake It Off.

“So? How’d you like it? I thought it was kind of spot on for you, Dean.” Sam breaks the silence, an odd tone in his voice. He winces as Eileen shoots him a warning look and kicks him under the table. “Only about the whiskey and the coffee though, of course.”

“It, it was … good and the whiskey and coffee part are very me but uh,” Dean takes a shaky breath and stares directly at Cas with a shy smile, “I definitely like things that are probably too sweet for me.” 

Cas’ eyes go wide before dropping to his hands. 

Eileen’s mouth falls open as she looks between Dean and Cas before asking Sam, in sign, if this is actually happening.

Sam, looking equally surprised that his impromptu plot appears to have succeeded, just shrugs at her. No one says anything and another Taylor Swift song begins to play.

Eventually, Sam takes it upon himself to break the silence again. “Well, um, I think Eileen and I are going to work on some ... lore research. We’ll just take our plates to my room ‘cause it's pretty dry stuff and we don’t want to bore you.”

Eileen rolls her eyes at the lame excuse to give Cas and Dean some privacy but goes along anyway and grabs two of the bean burgers Dean has finished assembling.

Dean thinks he hears Eileen call Sam a coward as they exit into the hallway but he’s too hyperaware of Cas still avoiding his gaze to really care all that much. He silently begs the angel to look at him, to give him some glimpse of what is going on in his head. Dean needs something to reassure him that Cas isn’t avoiding looking at him because he is horrified by Dean’s attempt at flirting.

“Whelp I guess it’s just us for dinner then. Typical Sammy to bitch about the music then ditch.” Dean tries to break the tension and pretend he didn’t just flirt with his friend in front of his family. He sets their beef burgers down at the table.

“Thank you. It looks delicious, Dean.” Perpetually chapped lips curve into a small, lovely smile and blue eyes shine up at him. His heart starts pattering in a series of impossible acrobatics like it's going for a gold medal. His breath catches and he knows his face is a few seconds from telegraphing his feelings in bright pink. He quickly retreats back to the fridge to take some deep breaths. “Anyway, uh, you want a beer?”

“Hmm? Oh, sure. That would be nice. Are you ... are you going to have whiskey?” Cas tries to tease, but the words come out gentle. Dean turns and sees the smile falter as Cas mistakes his hope for confusion. Before he can get out even a fake laugh, Cas is shoving his burger into his mouth and averting his gaze.

Dean brings Cas his bottle of beer and sits down next to him. Cas may have started eating the burger as a distraction, but it now looks like he’s genuinely enjoying it. He’s making ridiculous happy little noises and Dean can’t bring himself to say anything that might ruin the moment. He’s about to take a bite of his own burger when Cas finally comes up for air after nearly inhaling three quarters of his burger. Dean's hands stop, his mouth hangs open, and he can’t do anything but stare at where Cas is trying to lick a bit of runaway ketchup off his chin as he reaches for the beer.

Can’t you see that I’m the one who understands you,

Been here all along so why can’t you see,

You belong with me

“You know, I think I really am in the mood for something sweet,” Dean finds himself saying; the words spilling out without his permission.

“Oh, um, I don’t know if we have anything...” Cas’ brow furrows as he tries to think if there are any sweets that might be hidden in the bunker’s pantry or fridge.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to ...” Dean trails off as he leans forward and plants a quick kiss at the corner of Cas’ mouth before he can chicken out. He sits back and begins to quietly panic when Cas simply stares back at him with surprise. When he can’t handle it anymore, Dean tears his gaze away and starts fiddling with a hole in his jeans. Discouraged and embarrassed he begins mentally cursing himself and Hozier and Taylor for giving him stupid ideas.

“Uh, sorry. You still had ketchup on your face and all these dumb songs… I thought it would be funny but it was stupid and rude and I’m sorry. If you want, we can just ... We can forget it ever happened,” Dean tells the table. He doesn’t notice that Cas’ fingers have crept up to rest on the side of his lips, like if he keeps them there, he might be able hold on to the sensation of Dean’s kiss.

At Cas’ lack of response, Dean starts eating his burger again, even if it tastes like ash and gets stuck in his throat.

Kiss me once ‘cause you know I had a long night

Cas tries to speak, tries to find the right way to tell Dean that it wasn’t stupid at all, to tell him that the last thing he wants to do is forget this happened. He desperately wants another kiss but he doesn’t how to ask and the words all get jumbled and scatter as soon as they form. So, he gives up on trying to think and just dips his finger into the ketchup still overflowing from his burger and wipes the red condiment on his bottom lip.

Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright

“Dean?”

Dean’s head shoots up at the breathless call.

Three times ‘cause I waited my whole life,

One, two, one, two three, four!

Once his gaze to breaks free from studying the soft hope in Cas’ eyes it drifts down to the ketchup smeared on his beautiful lips. 

I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings, uh-huh

"You missed a spot.”

That’s right, darlin’, you’re the one I want

It’s all the invitation Dean needs. His hand goes to the back of Cas’ neck, thumb gently caressing his cheek as he slowly leans in again. Cas’ eyes flutter closed and his lips part slightly, breath coming out quick in anticipation as Dean’s lips hover over his. A gasp slips out when Dean’s tongue clears away the ketchup before delving deeper.

They kiss each other in a haze, eager exploration building into desperate passion. They come up for air not quite knowing how Cas ended up straddling Dean or when they’d given each other matching hickeys but not really caring either.

“We should probably move this to my room before Sam or Eileen bring their dishes out.” Dean murmurs, not really paying attention to his own words as he finds a spot on Cas’ jaw that he’s sure he hasn't kissed yet.

“That’s, mmmh, probably a good idea,” Cas replies, not making a single move to disentangle himself from Dean’s lap. After a few more slow kisses, Dean takes it upon himself to lift Cas up and carry him to his bed.

Neither one remembers to grab Dean’s phone or turn off the speaker and Taylor’s voice follows them down the hall.

Call my bluff, call you “Babe,”

Have my back, yeah, every day,

Feels like home, stay in bed,

The whole weekend,

It’s nice to have a friend,

It’s nice to have a friend,

It’s nice to have a friend.

Bonus:

“Do you think they’re getting suspicious?” Sam asks Eileen as he queues Love Story next.

“Of the fact that you’re still in the jam session and playing all of Taylor’s love songs or that you’re actually a closet Swifty?” Elieen quips before dissolving into laughter as she dodges the pillow and bitch face that Sam half-heartedly throws at her.

[sweetcocopowder]

Warming Up

「Synopsis 」 : Dean is left out in the cold and has no one but an angel to keep him warm.

「Word count」 : 912

-> Genre: Supernatural fluff

Paring: Dean Winchester / Castiel

It’s freezing outside and all Dean bought along with him was his jacket. He didn’t expect to be out here this long. Snow falls from the sky and for some reason he’s stuck out here waiting for Sam to return with Baby. He knew it was a bad idea letting Sam take his car. Somehow, he had wormed his way into the driver seat and driven off to drop a woman off at her home after they finished their job. Dean was busy cleaning things up so that’s why Sam wanted to take her back before it got too late. But Dean has finished at the abandoned warehouse, and it’s been two hours. Sam best not be getting laid.

Dean calls his brother’s phone for the tenth time and like the other nine times, it goes to voice mail after a couple of rings. He curses out loud and sits down on a patch of concrete. Only a single, dim streetlight lights up outside of the warehouse and it does jack shit. He looks at his phone again and hovers over Sam’s name, before scrolling up to Castiel’s contact.

He’s freezing his ass off out here. But he doesn’t want to walk off in case Sam comes back with his car. So, he calls Cas and lets it ring. On the third dial, the angel picks up.

“Hello?”

“Cas!” Dean says a little too eager. “Where are you right now?”

“Back at the bunker. Why?” Cas asks, a little worry settling in his gruff voice.

Dean loses what he was going to say, but “I’m stuck,” is all he’s able to manage out.

Castiel hangs up and Dean is left staring at his phone in utter shock. A rustle of feathers has Dean twisting around where he sits to see that the angel has come to him instead. He doesn’t look to be effect by the cold as Dean is and it only reminds the hunter how harsh it is out here. He pulls his jacket closer around him, seeing if it will help. But it doesn’t.  

“Where’s the car?” Cas asks as he looks out.

“Sam has her, was meant to be back awhile ago,” Dean says as his teeth start chattering together.

Castiel walks over to Dean, noticing his shivers and sits down next to him. Dean can feel how warm the angel is, he’s like a goddamn heater of some sorts.

“Can I touch you?” Castiel asks softly.

Every time Cas asks him for consent, it takes Dean by surprise. He thought after the first few times Cas would stop asking, but he hasn’t. Dean nods as he holds onto his jacket tighter. Cas scoots closer and wraps an arm and half of his trench coat around Dean so the heat keeps trapped. Dean keeps seated firm where he is even though the warmth is nice.

“Where is Sam?” Cas asks.

“He’s dropping a woman off at her house. Left me to clean up,” he explains.

“How long ago was that?”

“Two hours ago,” Dean shivers.

Cas holds on him tighter, squeezing his arm. The comfort has Dean leaning into the angel a little bit more.

“You should’ve called me earlier,” the angel argues.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean snips back but he finds himself curling further into the angel’s side as a breeze washes over them. “Why are you so fucking warm!?”

“My true form is large and generates a large amount of energy,” Cas answers literally.

Dean only hums at that with his head buried into Castiel’s shirt. He’s so warm that he doesn’t care if Sam comes right now and sees him like this. The physical touch brings such a comfort to Dean he hasn’t felt in ages. A little touch starved? Maybe. Just a little.

Cas brings his other arm around Dean to hold him in place and the hunter completely relaxes. His head is buried under the angel’s arm and it’s warm under here. Dean gives up on his tough act and wraps his arms around Cas’s torso. They stay like this for another half an hour even though Dean’s back started hurting at the angle in the first ten minutes, he didn’t want to move.

Castiel doesn’t mind at all, he’s content. He wishes they could have more moments like this. But, unfortunately all good things come to an end as headlights can be seen cutting through the trees. The engine of the Impala can be heard and Dean is quick to shoot up. The cold hits him painfully in the face and he wishes he could go back to where it’s warm. Back at the bunker.

Sam drives the Impala up to where Dean and Castiel are sitting. He hops out of the car all smug and it only frustrates Dean.

“Where were you!?” Dean asks gruffly as his brother hops out of the car.

“I was dropping Christie off,” Sam argues back.

“Over two hours!?”

Sam shrugs as Dean comes around the drive side of the car. “You’re riding in back, Cas called shotgun,” the older points out as he gets into the driver seat with a frown.

Even though Cas didn’t utter a word of such, Sam doesn’t need to know and Castiel doesn’t say a word to object it.

“What!?” Sam splutters out.

“Driver’s rules, Sammy,” Dean calls.

The younger brother looks to Cas for help, but the angel only shrugs as he hops into the passenger side. Driver’s rules.

-

Masterlist coming soon

NAV

[catalogercas]

Nevada

Summary: Dean processes his emotions at the speed Nevada counts it's ballots.

A03

Spring 2020

Dean can’t process.

It’s too much.

He stares at the wall.

He stares at his hands.

He flips up his phone again, stares at the now black screen, and thinks, maybe, he really should call Sam.

Sam and Jack both need to know what happened.

But he’s not even sure what did happen.

Too many things at once, that’s for damn sure.

One thing he’s certain, unrelently certain, about, is that Cas is gone. Like, gone gone.

He clenches his fists together and throws his head into his hands. He can’t take Cas being gone. Not again. He needs him. He needs him right now to get through the hell they’re all in. They need to wade through it all together. Defeat God. Call it a day.

But Cas...

Damn it, Cas. Damn it all.

He folds his head down further towards his knees and wishes there was a bottle of alcohol within his reach because, damn, does he need some.

He’s pretty sure Cas is gone because...well... because Cas was fucking... in love ...with him?

That couldn’t be right. Could it?

Why the hell would Cas go and do something dumb like be in love with him?

Honestly, what idiot would?

And that idiot being Cas...

He almost laughs, in a semi hysterical way, but Cas’ words fight with his confusion, his despair.

All he can see is Cas’ eyes welling with tears as he tells him how much he loves him. Because that was it, right? A love confession? A confession that Cas basically worships the ground he walks on because of how much he cares, how much he loves.

And that semi hysterical feeling punches him in the gut, because he doesn’t care enough, doesn’t love enough.

Because if he did, Cas would still be there. Right?

If he’d caught up with Cas faster, if he’d realized what Cas was saying ...

He could have...

He’s honestly not sure what he could have done, what difference it would have made.

How he could have stopped The Empty.

Tears steadily flow down his cheek as he lifts his fist and punches it into the floor before drawing back bloodied knuckles.

He stares at the wall again, then the ceiling, then the phone over and over in methodical order.

He wishes deals weren’t out.

He wishes he had Cas’ trenchcoat to hold on to.

He wishes he had a body to think about burning.

Something more concrete than an empty room.

He feels so empty it hurts.

He presses his hand to the bloody handprint on his jacket and whispers, “Damn it, Cas.”

XXX

Summer 2020

The Empty is as vast and dark as Castiel remembered.

He doesn’t understand, though, why he’s awake.

Why would an ancient cosmic being annoyed by his very existence allow him to be awake? A second time?

He calls out to the Empty, and it responds with his face.

“Pity that you’re awake, but, no matter. I’ve learned how to put you back to bed. So, off you go. Your son may try to bring you back, but it won’t work this time.”

Cas sighs and silently thanks Jack for trying.

XXX

Fall 2020

God is dead, finally dead.

Things are not normal, exactly, but Dean knows, at least, that God isn’t pulling his strings. Or Sam’s strings, or Jack’s strings or anyone else’s. Things are as normal as they’re going to get, considering.

They’re not good. They’re definitely not good. There’s a gaping Cas sized hole filling the bunker.

Jack’s been trying to bring him back from The Empty the same way he did the first time, using his god level angel radio, basically since God kicked it, but it’s not working. Hope that it will ever work is draining, and Dean is desperate to find another way to get Cas back, whatever it takes.

That, or to throw himself into every case he can to try to forget about the Cas sized hole that’s not just in the bunker but in his chest.

The hate and anger that Cas told him wasn’t his driving force, well, he’s pretty sure Cas was wrong.

All he wants is to break things until they feel as broken as he does.

XXX

He walks into Sam’s room in early November with a lead on a vampire den only to find that Sam and Jack, of all things, are watching news about the U.S. presidential election.

He’s never felt more removed from, possibly, anything. “You know none of us can vote, right?”

“Well, you definitely can’t. Election day was yesterday. But yeah, we’re all, well...” Sam trails off before turning back to the screen, clearly concerned about setting Dean off. It doesn’t take much these days. Even Dean knows that.

“Dead,” Dean finishes for him, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“Rooney was leading last night, but the states that haven’t reported are too close to call,” Sam says, ignoring the elephant he brought in the room. The glaring reminder that their best friend is still gone.

“Democracy is fascinating,” Jack says, seemingly oblivious, “especially this democracy, Sam’s been telling me how the electoral college works. Rooney could win without winning.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sam says as Dean wonders why either of them care, about anything, honestly, but especially this.

“Well, as thrilling as this is, I’ve got us a case. Looks like vampires, outside Vegas.”

“Clark County is one of the counties that hasn’t reported,” Jack says.

Dean gives Jack a blank look before he clarifies, “Las Vegas is in Clark County.”

“Yeah, great, whatever. Meet me outside in ten.”

XXX

Jack waits for Dean to leave before turning to Sam. “I’m trying it again. Dean needs him back. It fixed him when I brought Cas back before. I’d never seen Dean so happy.”

Sam frowns. They’ve been over this several times already. It’s not working, and it hurts them all to keep trying. “Yeah, well, what about you, Jack? Aren’t you tired of trying? You keep getting your hopes up only to have them dashed all over again. I’m sure that’s hard on you.”

Jack folds his arms across his chest and takes a deep breath. Sam isn’t wrong, but he’s not ready to give up. Not on Cas. Not yet. “I miss him, and I want him back so I’m going to keep trying.”

But it’s not just that. He thinks he’ll probably be seeking the Winchesters’ forgiveness for the rest of time, especially Dean’s. No matter what he does to help them, he’s not sure he’ll ever feel he’s atoned for Mary’s death. No matter how many times they say he’s forgiven.

Bringing Cas back helped Dean so much before, and all he wants to do is help them. Help Dean.

“But, it’s different for me, Sam. Cas was my father, and he knew, or, I hope he knew, that I loved him.”

“He knew,” Sam says.

“But Dean...Dean doesn’t have that. Cas doesn’t know that Dean loves him. I’m not sure Dean knows he loves Cas. But he does, doesn’t he?”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve told you before, he does. He just ... Dean’s a little dense about things sometimes.”

“But he needs to tell Cas. That will fix him. I’m sure of it.”

XXX

The drive to Nevada is long. They almost run out of gas before hitting Denver, and after Denver, the cassette deck goes on the fritz.

Dean refuses to let Sam or Jack play music off their phones, so instead he’s stuck listening to an endless and needless update on the current ballot count of several swing states. Pennsylvania, then Georgia, then Nevada, then back to Pennsylvania.

He silently decides to go along with their support of Lucy Hernadez. He tries not to overthink that they’ve mentioned her pro-LGBTQ platform several times. That’s important for the gay people he knows. Charlie. Claire.

His brain traitorously adds Cas to the list, and he grips the steering wheel too hard. They almost veer off the road, and Sam yells at him to watch it.

“Something in the road,” Dean mutters.

Neither Jack nor Sam point out that there’s nothing in sight.

They’re an hour outside of Las Vegas when Sam informs Jack that Georgia flipped blue at the same time as a phone inside the glove box starts ringing.

Sam opens the glove box and throws five cells on the ground before getting to the one that’s ringing. The caller ID reads Cas and Dean’s heart stops.

He immediately pulls off to the side of the road. “Where is he, Sam?”

Sam answers the phone, puts it on speaker, and it immediately goes to dial tone.

“Where is he?”

Sam keeps trying to call back, but there’s no answer.

XXX

Hope and doubt pervades the car.

With no other direction to go, they inch closer to Las Vegas as Jack informs them, with no particular enthusiasm that Pennsylvania has also flipped blue.

Then the impossible happens.

The phone rings again, and the caller ID reads Paradise, NV

The bubble of hope collectively rises, and Sam hits the speaker button.

They wait, and they’re all rewarded with Cas’ gravelly voice crackling in the background. “Hello, Dean? I hope you still have this phone...”

“Yeah, buddy, we read you loud and clear. Are you really in Paradise?”

“Paradise? No, Dean, I was...”

“No, Cas, the city. Paradise, Nevada.”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. This is a pay phone.”

“We’re coming to get you right now. But we got to know where you are.”

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line. He hears Cas speaking with someone else before he returns. “Yes, I’m unironically in Paradise.”

“We’re not too far. Uh, hang tight?”

XXX

Dean speeds the whole way down the length of the interstate and bangs his horn empathically as he drives through frustratingly slow traffic outside Paradise.

There are crowds of what appear to be protesters holding signs stating, “Count the Votes.”

“Isn’t that just how voting works? What the hell are these morons doing?” Dean asks. “They’re in my way.”

Sam shakes his head. “Apparently that’s not how Rooney thinks.”

“Great. That’s just great. A wannabe dictator is preventing me from getting to Cas.”

“Wait, Dean, stop!” Jack shouts from the back. “I see him!”

And Dean sees, to his utter shock, Castiel standing in the middle of the crowd holding a sign covered in rainbows stating “Lucy Hernadez for president!”

Cas sees them, lowers the sign, and waves, a thin smile lighting up his eyes.

Dean doesn’t even take the keys from the ignition as he practically rolls out of the car and runs to Cas.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t think.

He sprints across the parking lot, shoving multiple people out of his way.

He gets to Cas and wraps his arms around him and before he can even process what he’s doing, his lips are pressed into Cas’ lips. His hands are in Cas’ hair, and he can’t pull himself away.

Cas needs to know.

It wasn’t one sided.

Now that he’s had months and months to think about it, it was really never one sided.

He pulls back and sees the surprise and shock written all over Cas’ face.

“I love you, you goddamn idiot!”

“Dean,” Cas says, and tears are welling in his eyes again, just like they were so many months ago. He leans his forehead against Dean’s and Dean leans into it. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, back at you. Never ever pull that crap again. Making a deal with super angel hell? Come on, Cas. Never again.”

He feels tears running down his own cheeks as they wrap their arms around each other, and Dean’s not sure that either of them plan on letting go.

As they do, the crowd around them starts applauding and cheering, and, at first, Dean thinks it’s for them, and he thinks, maybe, they should have moved away from the protest for this, but then everyone starts cheering,“Nevada’s blue! Nevada’s blue! Nevada’s blue!”

Dean laughs and cheers, because even if it’s not his victory, Cas is, and he’s there anyway. “Well, way to go Lucy Hernadez!”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. “I was speaking to the protesters while I was waiting for you. They gave me this sign. It seems some monsters are political policies.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t hunt those ones,” Dean says.

He looks up to see Jack and Sam walking towards them slowly as both keep looking away awkwardly and then looking back. He waves them forward.

They both wrap Cas in a hug, and, as the revelry goes on around them, for the first time in a long time, they all feel whole.