#just gonna go... eat one of my safe foods and turn on Leviathan Wakes while repotting some of my plants

[the-yearning-astronaut]

Currently feeling anxious and very on edge and I was going to say idk why but I actually very much do know why I just don't know what to do about any of it.

Under the cut because there's a lot and I don't want to big down anyone's dash....

I'm in a sort of limbo right now. School has finished. It's been my literal driving force and my primary routine for three years. That routine and security is now completely gone.

I have an awkward 2.5 weeks between finals ending and my internship starting. That is both too much time (I'm doing too much overthinking and dwelling) and not enough time (I have so much to do and pack and idek where to start).

I don't know what to pack and no one seems to be able to get me a clear idea of what I should bring. I know I need to pack for essentially three different seasons because the temps can have a 40°F difference between night and day. Gotta love the desert. I know I need bedding and towels and basic kitchenware. But that's it. Do I need hangers for a closet or do I only have a dresser? Do I need a bath mat or shower curtain or is the place I'm staying basically fully furnished? There are no TVs -- is taking my own too excessive? What about taking my playstation? My houseplants? How much space in the kitchen will I have to store food in? Why does no one else seem to have these questions and why are they ok with just... Packing a few things and moving somewhere for 3 months?

Also I'm supposed to have been paid my first lump sum last Monday so that I actually had money to get the food and supplies and gas I'll need to get down there but ofc someone in HR or wherever fucked up and I haven't received a payment and no one seems to know where the money is coming from or who's in charge of making sure I get it.

Idk how to handle disability disclosure. My disabilities have the potential of putting my safety at risk -- especially considering where I'll be -- so for safety reasons alone I feel I should mention POTS at least. But the entirely new routines, new people, new location, new everything is.... That's gonna really mess me up for a while or will at least be a recurring issue through the duration of the program. I feel that I can count on at least few meltdowns. I'll be at high elevation, outside, in the desert. My medications make me more sensitive to UV rays than my pasty skin already makes me. I burn really easy, really quick regardless of whether I remembered sunscreen or not. And I have NO idea how to bring up the issue of fibro flare ups. Like hi yes I know I have a full schedule today but I'm gonna have to either limit my hours or not participate at all because I'm currently in bed experiencing full body pain and I can't think clearly atm. No idk if I'll feel better in 4 hrs or 4 days. And ofc high stress and anxiety situations are triggers for flare ups so it's basically a vicious cycle.

I'm scared because I really really want this. I've been wanting this internship for a full f-ing year and it's doing exactly what I want to do in one of my absolute favorite places and it's going to open doors to other jobs but. I'm so worried I'm gonna f-it up. That I'm gonna have to quit early with my tail tucked between my legs and I KNOW sometimes you have to stop and acknowledge that some things just aren't possible and it's not your fault but I've already done that again and again and I don't know what else I'd do with my life if not this. I can't keep living at home but I can't move out unless I have a full-time job and even the I probably can't afford rent anyway and I don't have friends I can move in with.

I'm so tired and overwhelmed and I feel like I can't turn to my mom for help because she's working two jobs and is already providing emotional support to her sister as she works through the death of my uncle. My bro is working two jobs and has far too much of his own BS to worry about and I definitely can't count on my dad for anything.

I'm just. Really at a loss rn and after that fiasco of a semester I don't have the emotional energy to deal with any of it.

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

iii. Actor AU | Bloopers/Gag Reel

Part Two of the Actor AU series! 

Word Count: 887 words

Page Count: 2.7 pages

A.N. Hope you guys like these bloopers lmao

[ Actor AU Masterlist ]

Lucifer, introducing himself: And I am... Lucifer...

Satan: *just staring at him*

Lucifer: And the... *starting to giggle* Av-Avatar of *Laughing*

MC: Dude, this is the first scene *laughing*

*****

Mammon, holding the Slate Board: Take three...

Satan and Luke, dancing in the back:

Belphegor, laughing at Asmodeus, who tripped on his tail:

Lucifer, being carried on Beelzebub's shoulders:

MC and Barbatos, moaning loudly in Simeon's ear:

Solomon and Leviathan, the only ones ready to film is sitting on the floor at this point:

Mammon: Three out of three hundred. You fucking children.

*****

Leviathan: You told them? Why? You ass!

Mammon: Oh my god, shut up.

Leviathan: Dude... you good?

*****

MC, in a flashback with a friend in the car: Wake me up when it's my turn to drive, okay?

MC: *Lays down in their lap while driving*

MC's Friend: So... head?

MC: *cackling in their lap*

*****

*Everyone, outside for filming, and it's drizzling*

Lucifer, mouth wide open, looking up to the sky: SUSTENANCE!

*****

MC, sleeping in their bed for a scene, eyes closed and just chillin': 

Barbatos, being a little shit: *honks air horn in their ear*

MC, shooting up: KELLY CLARKSON!

*****

Simeon: Luci and I

Solomon: Luci?

Simeon: Yeah, my bitch is a better term though, but I call him Luci. *chuckles*

Solomon: *giggles*

*****

Lucifer, staring at MC in the kitchen, tension rising due to this being one of their arguments:

MC, staring back smugly:

Satan, turning the corner: Am I interrupting something?

*****

MC and Solomon, doing a promo for the Holiday rush, speaking in sync: And we, the humans of RAD, wish you the happiest of Holidays.

MC:...

MC: That was really nice.

Solomon: *Laughs*

*****

MC, testing the fake blood in their mouth:

Director: Okay, now just say something.

MC: I'm a pebble. *Blood gushing down their mouth, they start choking, due to there being too much*

Belphegor: At this rate they're gonna die before I touch 'em.

*****

Barbatos, locking Simeon and MC in a closed room on set: Now why don't ya'll fuck and make puppies.

Simeon: Go fuck yourself!

Leviathan: This sounds like a bad fan fiction.

Everyone: *laughs*

*****

Leviathan: He's a mon... monster... *his accent won't stop coming out*

Mammon: It's okay, take your time.

Satan and Luke: *Heavy NY accent* Ya! But'cha don' say that shit with us!

*****

Beelzebub, on the phone, supposed to sound worried about Asmodeus: Hello? Is this the police?

Beelzebub: Yeah, I got an emergency!

Beelzebub: Someone stole my fuckin' food.

Beelzebub: Yes! Ma fuckin' food! 

Mammon: *chuckling*

*****

Diavolo, walking in shirtless: Impressive, no?

Leviathan: *drops to his knees*

Leviathan: I'm ready.

Both: *start laughing*

*****

Simeon: Well, with my knowledge and my experience, raising younger angels was easy... for... me...

*Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos, doing a conga line behind the camera, the rest of the cast joining*

Simeon, trying to stay in character: Sorry- I was just reminiscing.

MC: Reminiscing? Or the idiot centipede in the back got you shook?

*****

Mammon, playing with the coffee lid, because Luke looked a bit too scared in the last scene: And for this *clicking the lid* you will pay *bad mimicry of Lucifer*

Luke: *giggles*

*****

*Someone starts playing 'I Will Always Love You'*

Belphegor: Can we even afford that song yet? Do we have the rights?

Satan: Nah, we gettin' copy right striked.

Lucifer: WE GETTIN' DEMONIZED?

Leviathan: Bitch, we canceled.

*****

Director: Make your eating look a bit more erotic. Use the butter and the toast maybe?

Asmodeus: Okay, got it.

Asmodeus: *Deep throats the stick of butter*

Solomon: Or we can do that *horrified*

*****

Beelzebub: What do you guys want to start your day with?

Asmodeus: Honestly? I could start with a nap. ( Crew member, in the back: But you just woke up- ).

Diavolo: I could start with a kiss from each one of my kids.

Mammon: I could start with some peace and quiet.

Solomon: I could start with some cuddles from Blue ( his husky ).

Barbatos: I could start with some real love and affection.

MC: I could start with some coffee.

Satan: I could start with some roll ups and about a gram.

Leviathan: I could start with some head.

Belphegor: I could start with some whiskey.

Lucifer: I could start with some coke.

Simeon: I could start with some therapy after hearing those last couple of rejects.

*****

MC: *starting the scene*

Belphegor, behind the door, supposed to be asleep: *giggling like a maniac*

MC: Or we can not do our jobs. That's an option too.

*****

*Barbatos and Simeon, in an elevator the doors are closing*

Barbatos: *pushed Simeon to the wall as the doors shut*

Simeon: OH FUCK! MY DICK!

Leviathan, looking at the camera like in the office: And that's why we practice safe sex kids.

Mammon: ...what?

*****

Diavolo, on the phone with Lucifer: Yeah, you don't wanna get caught trespassing at a public pool at three in the morning with your girlfriend, beer in one hand and your raging erection in her other, ya know?

Lucifer: *starting to chuckle* Yeah... yeah I get it.

Satan: How- how is that relatable?

*****

MC, half naked, changing for a scene while Asmodeus is on their bed, reading a magazine: 

MC: Asmo, I just am not too sure-

MC: *trips while putting on their pants*

Asmodeus: Even Conner ( Belphegor ) doesn't slip up this much. And he wears that fucking tail.

MC: I- I'm sorry???

[deanssweetheart23]

Once Upon A Flannel

Title: Once Upon A Flannel

Summary: Dean doesn’t know how or why he fell in love with her. But he does know one thing. It all started with a flannel…

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (mentioned), Castiel (mentioned)

Word count: 3977 (totally worth it, I promise)

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Some language. Implied smut. Death of a loved one, mentions of blood and references to grief. 

Author’s Notes: This is my very late submission for @luci-in-trenchcoats‘ AU & Things Challenge. Michelle, I can’t even thank you enough for being so patient with me about this. I fell so in love with the story and wanted to do it justice. 

Special thank you to twin @ravengirl94 for reading parts of it over for me and listening to me whine, I don’t know what I’d do without her.

My prompt for this was flannel (obviously, lol) and you’ll see what I did with it in the text *winks* Also, this fic was loosely inspired by Ed Sheeran’s How Would You Feel (You need to listen to that, btw, his new album is amazeballs)

Thank you for all of your love and support. Enjoy <3

The first time Dean sees her in one of his flannels, it’s after a wendigo hunt.

Autumn’s slowly creeping its way into his life again, its tawny leaves and withered hedges painting the scene in golden colors and, even though he rarely takes the time to appreciate things like these anymore, he stops for a second and breathes it all in, the crispiness and the rustles and the shadows of change.

And then, she swims into view.

She’s sitting on the hood of a Bronco in Bobby’s scrap yard, fallen leaves dancing at her feet, as she stares straight ahead, at the sky that’s turning to orange, and smiles.

And he doesn’t notice at first, but there’s something familiar there, in the red and white fabric that wraps around her, in the way the garment dwarfs her, in the rolled-up sleeves and the hem that reaches her mid-thigh and he realizes that it’s his clothes she’s wearing.

She looks beautiful.

“D.,” she smiles, a smile that’s all softness and warmth, “I thought you weren’t supposed to get back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, “we finished up early.” A pause. Eyes lingering on her a bit too long. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees her cheeks flush pink.

“Yeah, it’s…soft. And.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s gonna sound creepy, but, damn, dude, it smells nice.”

He chuckles.

He really can’t help it.

“C’mere, kid.” He says and pulls her to him, arms holding her tight against him until he’s pretty sure she can’t breathe anymore. 

“Hmmm. Looks like somebody missed me.”

“Shut up.” He groans, but the corners of his lips curl up in a shy smile and something tugs at his heartstrings. “How’s your leg?”

“Healing up nicely. Bobby says I’ll be ready to go by the time you two find a new case.”

“Good.” He pulls back to look at her. “S’ been a nightmare not having you on this one.”

“What, you and Sam had to pose as a couple?”

A groan.

Eyes rolled skywards.

“He made me eat rabbit food, Y/N. Rabbit food.” he whines and she laughs, rich and sunny.

He loves he’s the one who made it happen.

It surprises him, how her laugh affects him, how it has been affecting him for a while now, but he just assumes that after everything they’ve been through together, it’s good to know that she can still smile as brightly as she used to, good to know that there’s still a spark in her, one that the grief and the loss and the danger haven’t managed to burn out.

“Don’t worry, D. Tonight, I’m making the unhealthiest burger you’ve ever had. And Health Freak Sam’s not invited.”

Mischief floats across his features.

“Bacon cheeseburger?” 

“With cheddar and extra fries.” She bits on her bottom lip. “And, if you’re real nice about it, I might just bake you a cherry pie, too.”

He chuckles, all awe and gratitude.

“Kid,” he breathes out, clasping the side of her face, “you’re fucking perfect.”

“I know.”

“And a brat.” he adds, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I’m your favorite brat.” She snorts and wraps an arm around him. “C’mon, old man. Let’s get you inside.”

“Excuse me,” Dean gasps, jutting his chin, “did you just call me old?”

“Well, aren’t you like a hundred years old now?”

“Oh, that’s it. Y/N, you better run.”

And she does.

She just sprints away from him and heads for the house before he even has the chance to think about grabbing her, crazy laughter escaping her, and he’s left behind to watch, watch as the crimson light dances across her skin and the flannel sways with the wind, and he feels, maybe for the first time since he returned from the hunt, he feels at peace.

She should wear his clothes more often.

The next time she’s dressed in one of Dean’s flannels, it’s soaked in his blood.

The wound’s nothing but a deep cut across his stomach, just another scar he’ll have to add to the map of his skin, but the what ifs it brought along with it are still there, trapped into the blood that’s smeared across her skin. 

The sight of her breaks his heart.

“Okay,” she breathes out, sterilized needle in hand. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to lay down for a minute.”

“Y/N,” Sam says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you should go get changed. I can do this.”

“Yeah, no. As pissed as I am at Dean right now,” she throws a pointed look his way, “I don’t hate him enough to let you patch him up.”

Sam’s jaw drops.

Dean snorts.

“What are you talking about? I’m-”

“Awful at patching other people up.” She cuts him off, head titled the left. “Sam, I love you, but my left side looks like a frigging Picasso painting because I trusted those gigantic hands of yours.”

“That is so –you know what?” Sam groans, furrowing his brows in a scowl. “You’re a horrible human being.”

And Dean might be in pain and worried about Y/N and how mad at him she is, but he still laughs a gruff laugh at his brother’s childish pout and smirks when the man rolls his eyes.

“You think this is funny?”

“Oh, Sammy. I think it’s hilarious.”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line.

He clenches his jaw.

“Whatever. If she tries to stab you with that needle while I’m in the shower, don’t come to me for help,” he deadpans and disappears behind the bathroom’s door.

Silence stretches in the room until it’s too much for the eldest Winchester to handle. He looks at Y/N, who’s examining the blood-stained flannel, something dark settling over her features.

He clears his throat, quietly.

She looks up.

“Uh. You’re not gonna stab me with that, are you?”

“That depends.” She takes a seat next to him. “You gonna tell me what the hell were you thinking?”

“That I needed to stop that son of a bitch before he could get away.”

“On your own.” 

Dean swallows, hard.

“You and Sam weren’t there. And I needed-”

“You could have died.” She says and it might be just a whisper, broken and a bit scraped, but there’s anger burning its edges and it makes his stomach plummet. 

“You keep saying what you needed to do but you never…” She shakes her head and looks up at him. “What about what I need?”

He blinks.

“What you-”

“I need you to be okay.” 

It’s a simple statement, frustrated but honest, and despite everything they’ve been through together, it still catches him off guard, how there’s someone out there other than his brother that really cares about him, someone that wants him, needs him to be okay.

“You just… For God’s sake, Dean, you’re always so hell bent on keeping us safe and it’s never occurred to you that maybe we want to do the same thing? I mean, you’re,” she huffs out air through her nose, not quite a laugh, “you’re my best friend. And I know it’s the life and I’ve lost people, but I don’t think I can…”

She’s struggling now, all the things she wants to say stuck in the back of her throat, so he wraps his fingers around her wrist and tugs.

“Hey,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “m’ not going anywhere anytime soon.” A small smile. “You know that, right?”

She purses her lips, something he can’t quite put his finger on flashing across her face.

And then-

“Yeah,” she tells him, soft hand covering his, “yeah, I know.”

Dean smiles at that, and lets her get back to work, storing her tender smile into memory.

And when she crawls into his bed later that night and tangles herself with him, chest pressed against his back and hands flattened against his stomach, he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds her and lets her hold him, trying to ignore that there, in the way she’s tucked against him and keeps him close, there he thinks he can find a home.

He dreams of warm smiles and plaid flannels until he falls asleep.

She’s making pancakes again.

For the past two weeks, Dean wakes up to find Y/N making pancakes in Rufus’ kitchen, dressed in his flannels while classic rock music plays in the background.

She’s doing it for him, he knows, tries to distract him from the fact he’s got a broken leg and the Leviathans are out there taking over the world, one person at a time, and even though he’d normally mind, he doesn’t even remember the last time someone tried to do something for him.

Her tenderness warms his heart.

“Morning there, cupcake.” She smiles when she sees him entering the kitchen with his crutches.

A groan.

Eyes narrowed the size of half-dollars.

“Y/N, how many times have we talked about this?”

“Plenty.” She shrugs as she places a plate in front of him. “But you know me, I’d do anything to piss you off.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice bedhead, by the way.” She smirks, ruffling his hair.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me.” She gloats, all mischief and playfulness. “Eat up. And be quiet, I got to finish this book, or I might actually die.”

He laughs at that, surprising even himself, and watches as she gets lost into the pages of unknown kingdoms and noble heroes.

And the world around him is crumbling down, slowly and surely, but when she  looks up at him and smile, a smile of love and sunshine, he can’t bring himself to care.

And he knows.

He’s in love.

Dean rarely admits he’s scared.

It’s something he’s learnt to consider a weakness, ever since he was a kid, but the feeling’s almost always there. It’s there in moments of great danger and moments of stagnation, it’s there in the middle of the battle field and in the punchline of a joke.

It’s there no matter what he does because he always knows that everything can be taken away from him in the blink of an eye.

Tonight’s different though.

Tonight, he’s not scared because he’ll be going on a suicide mission in the morning.

Tonight, he’s scared because he has something to lose.

And that hurts twice as much.

“You’re back.” Y/N’s soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts as her figure springs into view, clad in one of his flannels.

“Yeah, Cas… He zapped me back a while ago.”

She hums and climbs next to him on the hood, handing him a bottle of beer.

“Things are bad, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t say anything.

Her bottom lip wobbles.

“Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to pull her to him, “we’ll figure this out.” A temple kiss. “We always do.”

He’s pretty sure she doesn’t believe him, but she still nods and plants a kiss on his shoulder, grip tightening around him.

For a minute, they just hold and see and feel, breathing in air that’s dusted with their secrets, and when it becomes too much Dean lets himself believe that maybe it’s not too late. He lets himself live in a world where they can still have this, they can have tonight, and he can kiss her and make love to her like he’s dreamt about for months, no matter what happens.

But he can’t.

He can’t be selfish, can’t give her a part of him and take a part of her, only to take it all away in the morning. He’s not doing that.

“Sam told me about the plan.” She whispers after a while. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Dean-”

“You just have to stick to it, Y/N.” he says and it’s a bit harsher than he intended it.

“Even if it gets you killed?” she implores, unable to keep the venom from her voice as she pulls away. “Because none of us knows what’ll happen once you stab that son of a bitch.”

And he wishes he could lie to her, wishes he could tell her everything she needs to hear, smile and say it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay, but nothing’s ever that simple in his life.

So, he sighs and runs a hand over his face, mumbling a guilty I know under his breath.

“Screw the plan then. We’ll do something else. We can figure it out.”

“God, kid, I wish but that’s –that’s the only way this can work.” He reaches out for her hand. “Sides,” he clasps his free hand on the side of her face, “you know me. I’m not good at staying dead.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

He laughs, but it’s brittle and wrecked.

“Okay, just…” Ragged breath. “Promise me something.”

“Dean-”

“No,” he swallows, hard, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “Just… No matter what happens tomorrow, I need you to keep going.”

“Dean, you can’t... You can’t possibly ask that from me.”

“Well, I just did, so... Sucks for you, I guess.”

He expects her to smile, but she doesn’t. 

She just clamps her teeth together, eyes shining with unshed tears and if his heart didn’t break before, it does now.

“Can you just-”

“Try my damnedest not to die, yeah, I got that.”

She chuckles, soft but sad.

“You got a horrible sense of humor, D.”

“Hmmm. Listen.” He presses his forehead against hers. “If we make it out of this alive, you and I are going out. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, I swear to God.”

She smiles.

It’s a small smile, hopeless and fades quickly, but it’s something.

“Anywhere I wanna go?” she repeats, feigning surprise. “I dunno, D. M’ sensing an ulterior motive here.”

He smirks.

“Always knew you were a smart one, kid.” He says and kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger against warm skin.

And he almost believes they have a chance. 

Dean loses her a day later.

He’s standing next to Dick and the darkness’s sneaking up on him from every corner, but he still sees her, sees how she bursts through the door and screams for him, how she kicks and punches and yells for Sam to let her go, let her leave, until he’s swallowed whole by blackness and there’s nothing else he can see.

When he wakes up, he’s in Purgatory, but can still hear her screams, can taste her pain on his tongue and breaks, he breaks, when he realizes how much he broke her.

He’s never felt so empty.

Y/N has changed.

She’s beautiful, of course, as beautiful as he remembers, but she looks so tired, that usual brightness of hers gone, leaving nothing but scars and heartache behind.

He hasn’t seen her since Purgatory.

Granted, he wants to call the minute he gets out, but he doesn’t know if there’s a point, doesn’t know if she wants him back in her life or if she’s moved on with someone better, someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and doesn’t hunt monsters for a living.

So, he had avoids that phone call until he can’t avoid it anymore and has to take the leap.

And, God, she is not happy to hear from him.

Instead, she sounds angry and terrified and broken, and even though he suspects it’s because she can’t really believe it’s him, it still stings a little.

She agrees to meet with him though, and that’s more than he could have asked for.

“You’re here.” She says when she sees him, but there’s no emotion there, no spark in her eyes.

And still, Dean wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and never let her go again, because he wants to believe, needs to believe, he can still fix this, fix her, just like she’d done with him, over a hundred times.

But he can’t, so-

“Kid,” he smiles, taking a tentative step forward “s’ good to see you.”

“Don’t call me that.” She spats, biting on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’m going to rip you to fucking shreds for using him against me, I swear to God.”

His smile drops immediately.

“Hey,” he mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender, “it’s really me, kid, I swear.”

“I said-”

“I know, I know. Alright.” He shakes his head a little. “Do you have that silver knife I got you for your birthday?”

She scowls, but reaches for her back pocket and hands it over, watching as he drags it along his skin until it bleeds.

“See?” he gloats, a smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolls her eyes and throws him a flask.

“Drink up.”

He obeys.

Nothing happens.

“Y/N-”

“One more thing.” She says and, before he knows it, she’s pouring a bottle of Vorax over him.

“Oh, c’mon.” he whines, rubbing a hand over his face. “Was that really necessary?”

But she’s not listening. She’s too busy staring at him, that frigid expression that had hurt him so much melting away piece by piece to reveal her, that warmth that’s been missing all along.

“Are you-”

“Me?” he chuckles a little under his breath. “Yeah. S’ really me, kid.”

“But you –this can’t be… I looked everywhere.” She chokes off, the bottle falling from her hands. “You were dead.”

He smiles, timid and fragile and just a tad cheeky.

“Well. I told ya I’m not good at staying dead, didn’t I?”

She laughs then, actually laughs, mad and relieved and real until it’s all laced with tears, bitter and sweet, and she has to reach for him, let him wrap her into his arms and grip like he’s her only lifeline, the only thing she’s got left.

And he takes her in, breathes in every inch of softness, and lets his fingers trace along the familiar pattern of the flannel she’s wearing, painted in green and blue, finally feeling alive again.

“If you ever do this to me again-”

He grins and cups her face, titling her head up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll rip me to fucking shreds.” He thumbs away her tears. “Which, if you ask me, sounds kind of sexy.”

She cracks a small smile.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“A year later and your humor still sucks.” She smirks, nuzzling his jaw. “I guess some things never change.”

God, he hopes so.

He kisses her two weeks later.

He’s been thinking about it for days, struggling to find the right things to say, the right thing to do, wondering what it would feel like, how she’d feel like, but she always does something to make him fall a bit deeper, a bit harder in love with her, and his words end up stuck at the back of his throat, barely fighting their way out.

And then it happens.

He finds her cooking in Rufus’ kitchen one night, clad in the same red and blue flannel she’d been wearing that day that changed everything for him, seemingly a lifetime ago.

For a moment, he’s back at Bobby’s scrap yard with her on that beautiful evening and everything’s a bit simpler because the old man’s still alive and Cas isn’t stuck in Purgatory and his own brother hasn’t given up on him yet.

And he knows it’s a beautiful memory, but it doesn’t make him as homesick as he thought it would, because she is still there.

She’s always been there.

He realizes then, that all the losses he’s suffered, all the grief and the heartache, don’t hurt him anymore, not as much as they used to, anyway, because he has her.

He has her as a friend and as a hunting partner, has her as a childhood memory, as the person he’s been in love with his entire life without even knowing, as the only one who can work with him to make this work.

He has her in more ways than one, more ways than he deserves or could have ever dreamt of and though he doesn’t understand why, he’s thankful.

And he’s tired of wasting time.

So, he gathers every ounce of courage he has, walks right next to her and tugs at her hand.

“D.,” she smiles, turning around to face him, “I didn’t hear you co-”

The rest of the words are lost when he presses his lips against hers. He takes it slow, gives her time to pull away, space in case she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him, but she clutches at his shirt, pulls him closer and he growls and wraps his arm around her waist, holding her, really holding her, for the first time in his life.

When he draws back, he presses his forehead against hers, his hands never leaving her.

“Please, tell me this was okay.” He says, and if he wasn’t so caught up in the moment, he’d be embarrassed by how absolutely wrecked he sounds.

She laughs, delighted but scraped, cheeks pink and lips swollen.

“That was –yeah, that was more than okay, obviously, but-”

“Good.” he smirks, his large hands cupping her face. “Because I own you a date.”

“Fucking finally.” She breathes out and kisses him, lips soft and demanding and perfect against his own, and it’s not too long before he thanks God Sam’s out for the night and takes her to the couch, mumbling are you sures and Jesus, you’re perfects into her skin.

Dean takes his time to make love to her that night, slow and sweet, no matter how desperately he wants her. He thrusts into her leisurely, lets himself see, trace and feel every inch of her body, hear her soft whimpers and the short intakes of breath. He whispers words of love and soft praises, tells her how beautiful she is, how he’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants her, and takes everything she has to give, gives everything she wants to take, until there’s nothing left anymore.

And when she lays naked on the floor next to him afterwards, stomach pressed against the blanket he’s laid, his lips trailing up and down her back, his eyes flicker over the stolen flannel that’s thrown next to the fireplace and he laughs.

“What?” she asks, the smile audible in her voice.

“Nothing, just,” he presses a kiss on the back of her neck, “promise me you’ll never stop wearing my clothes.”

She chuckles, rolls into her back then and wraps her arms around him.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She pecks his jaw. “Oh, and.”

“Hmm?”

She looks into him, looks into his eyes like she can see everything, like she can read his soul.

“I love you, too.”

Dean smiles then because, in that moment, tangled in the sheets with her, he knows that no matter what happens, no matter what life chooses to throw his way, he’ll always have her, the girl that steals his clothes and makes pancakes to make him smile. 

And that’s enough.

Tags: @ravengirl94 @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @pickupthatamulet @hannahindie @emilywritesaboutdean @atari-writes @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @dancingalone21 @atc74 @juanitadiann @becominglionhearted @imagining-supernatural @impala-dreamer @becs-bunker @tiny-friggin-human @polina-93 @mandilion76 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @iwriteaboutdean @kathaswings @thevioletthourr @spngeronimo @captainemwinchester @ruprecht0420 @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @winchestersnco @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @wellthatsrandomkek @akshi8278 @escabell @keepcalmandcarryondean @a-glass-of-orange-juice @ravenangel33 @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @holahellohialoha @castianityislife02 @sinistersaltqueen @ultrafandomcat @easelweasel @carryonmyswansong

[mindyfication]

drowning in dreams

Wincest Writing Challenge, prompt: shifter!Dean Rating: M | Warnings: mild violence, suicidal thoughts | Length: 3k Partner: @wideawakeandwriting Read on AO3

***

Sam stumbles into Rufus’s cabin, more drunk than he should be. The fucking demon was right, he’s alone. It’s only been three days, but each feel like a whiskey-soaked eternity. Tomorrow he’ll search for real, maybe get a witch or a better psychic to help him. If Crowley didn’t lie, and wasn’t that the biggest if of the century, if he didn’t lie then Dean was in purgatory. And for once, Sam’s been procrastinating on research. He’s already urgently looked for ways to get in and out of purgatory when they had a leviathan problem, can’t free them all to maybe, probably not, get Dean back.

He should be hunting. Or going after the mystical normal life. Something.

The next day is rum, and at this rate the cabin is gonna be out of any alcohol inside of a week. He doesn’t slow down, bitterly thinks of famine saying he was the only one who could always consume more, the exception. Five drinks deep and his head starts to spin, six and he doesn’t think anymore, mindlessly watching whatever’s on tv. He likes the cartoons, always easy to follow and bitterly nostalgic, chase it down with more alcohol.

Rufus sure had a lot of rum for someone who never seemed to drink it, three days worth. Then there’s the vodka, it goes with a half-hearted attempt to clean up. There’s a bottle of port, old and fruity and rich, begging to be sipped slowly over a chess match or a good book. He drinks it outside, fresh air reminding him he should really shower and do his laundry. (He takes a bath instead, more literally stewing in his own filth, finishing off the bottle.)

Laundry goes with some overly sweet peach liquor and Sam is too close to sober, has emptied out every form of hunter’s helper to be had. He doesn’t want to go into town, something about seeing other people seems far worse than sobriety- today anyways.

The inevitable sobriety comes with an obsessive state like before without Dean. Without hunting a pseudo-trickster, he has the cabin cleaner than it has ever been. He scrubs his own skin off every morning, doesn’t leave the shower until he’s flushed pink. He works out after, the repetitive steady 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, of sit-ups and push-ups and chin-ups and jumping jacks. And then he showers again, a cold and quick rinse.

He finds nothing new on purgatory, and worse he’s running low on food. Tomorrow he’ll have to go to town, see what’s become of the world. His stomach twists unpleasantly, and a voice that sounds like his brother wonders when he became such a fucking pansy.

.

He’s halfway through his push-ups when he hears a car. His stomach knots up as he stands, grabbing the nearest gun. He looks out the window and nearly drops the pistol, sees Dean unloading a forgettable car.

“Hey lazybones, you gonna help?” Dean yells and Sam laughs breathless, rushes outside.

“Dean! How are you-”

“One minute,” Dean interrupts him, slicing his arm open and drinking holy water. Sam does the same, wincing at the salted water’s taste, handing the stuff back and enveloping his brother in a tight hug.

“How did you get out of purgatory? There was nothing in the lore-” Sam says, still holding him.

Dean grins, “C’mon hell couldn’t hold me, you though some second-rate monster land could? I’m starving, let’s get inside and we’ll talk.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, squeezing his brother once more before grabbing a bag. “You went grocery shopping?” Sam lets out a soft laugh, “Holy shit this is from a real grocery store.”

“Shut up if you want my cooking,” Dean says, hip checking the door open. “This last month I’ve existed without food, I could literally eat an entire horse.”

Guilt comes back quick and before he can ask, Dean whistles, putting the groceries on the counter. “Well aren’t you the little homemaker Sammy.”

“Jerk,” Sam says, can’t help a smile. Dean was back, it still feels like a dream.

“Bitch,” Dean tosses back carelessly, opening the fridge. “Or not, shit where’s the food kiddo?”

Sam puts away the groceries, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I was gonna get some today.”

Dean snorts, “Lucky timing then.”

There’s more fresh food in the cabin than there probably ever has been, and he can’t deny being excited about not eating another canned or dried meal. Dean has two steaks cooking when he finally talks about it.

“Purgatory was designed to hold monsters, not people. There was an escape hatch- I couldn’t-” Dean swallows. “It took a while to get there, lot of fighting. Cas didn’t make it out.”

Sam swallows, “Maybe we could-”

“No,” Dean interrupts firmly. “The leviathans got to him, they all wanted him.”

Sam sighs, pushes back the tears. If Dean isn’t going all emo, he won’t. And it wasn’t like Sam hadn’t tried to-. Dean was alive, that’s all that mattered.

Dean slaps a steak on his plate and grabs two beers from the fridge. “First supper.”

Sam’s lips twitch, cutting into the meat. “Next time I’ll make some corn or mashed potatoes.” It hits him then that Dean might want to get back on the road, probably sees spending extra time in the cabin as a waste.

Dean rolls his eyes though, “You gonna make sure I eat my leafy greens?”

“Damn straight,” Sam says, happiness bubbling up. “Enough spinach and maybe you won’t get scurvy.”

“All the coolest pirates had scurvy,” Dean says, and they’re both too busy eating to talk more. Sam knows Dean’s a decent cook, and maybe it’s partly from how long it’s been since he ate fresh food, but the steak is beyond perfect.

He slowly eats the last bite, savoring it. “That was amazing.”

Dean grins, leaning back and rubbing his belly, “I know.”

Want surges through him, and Sam pushes it down, gets up and grabs their plates. The dishes won’t take long, but he needs a little distraction. It’s only been one day and the traitorous thoughts are coming back.

“Good wife,” Dean jokes as he scrubs the pan clean.

It rolls off him easy, he’s used to this type of teasing. “Says the one that just cooked for us,” Sam shoots back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says and he hears him gulp down the rest of his beer. The image comes to mind too easily, one he’s seen countless times of Dean’s plush lips wrapped around a bottle. Sam scrubs harder, the final bit of grit coming off, and he washes it clean. They didn’t make a mess in the kitchen, a few water rings from the beer, but Dean will know something’s up if he wipes those off. (He has Dean now, he shouldn’t even want to.)

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean says.

“About what?” Sam asks, refrains from saying what’s the case.

Dean wets his lips, “I wanna take a break.”

Sam can’t breathe, eyes wide and afraid he might wake up.

“A real one, not like two days or a concert. Like a year. We’ll still be in touch if anyone needs help, but hands off. No more dying and saving the world and self-sacrifice.” Dean rubs his face, “I’m so tired man, I can’t keep running on empty.”

This can’t be real, a djinn must have snuck up on him. There’s no way-

“Sammy? What do you think?”

“Yes,” Sam breathes, doesn’t care that this can’t be real. There’s no way Dean would ever stop, certainly wouldn’t choose it for himself. But if Dean is still in purgatory, if this is all one last dream before death- he sure as hell isn’t going to squander it.

He feels looser, easier in the freedom that it’s like a dream. Of course a djinn would give him his brother and take away the outside world, he wouldn’t have to share him with anyone, knows he’ll be safe.

“Awesome,” Dean says with a grin.

“I love you,” Sam says.

And Dean doesn’t brush it off, doesn’t tell him that emotional declarations are for near-death experiences only. Doesn’t say that this isn’t one of those movies, or that Sam must be having his time of the month.

“C’mere,” he beckons instead, and Sam goes to his arms. Dean’s still sitting in the high kitchen stool, puts them eye level. Dean’s grip tightens, brings their bodies flush together. “You’re mine Sammy, never letting you go again.”

Sam slumps into his shoulder, soaks up all the attention. His mind keeps flicking between what fake Dean- projected dream Dean really- is doing and what his brother would really do. It’s going to give him a headache, but then Dean is cupping his face, brings him back up.

“You’ll always be mine,” Dean murmurs, and brings their lips together.

Dean wouldn’t- he shouldn’t be twisting his memory like this, oh god- Dean can’t-

Dean’s tongue parts his lips, and Sam gives in. He already succumbed to this dream verse, it’s silly to deny himself now. Dean tastes like steak and beer, like he must, and it isn’t long until they’re on the small cabin bed.  

.

Sam falls into a new routine, a much more pleasurable one. He’s almost always up first, works out and takes a warm shower before crawling back into bed with Dean. Sometimes he wakes him, mouth sucking down his cock, and sometimes he just lays between his legs as time passes, Dean’s cock soft and warm and doesn’t move his lips to wake him. Sometimes he wakes Dean with softer kisses, peppered over each and every freckle on his cheeks. Sometimes Dean slips into his shower, soaps him up good before leaning him against the wall and fucking him until the water goes cold. And sometimes, Sam simply lays with him, staring at Dean’s forever young face. He could never tire of him, could consume him forever. (It resonates with something Sam doesn’t want to think about, doesn’t have to- this is his dream.)

Dean does all the cooking and grocery shopping, never asks why Sam doesn’t want to leave the cabin. His cooking is unnaturally perfect and Sam never questions that his ‘new’ recipes always turn out fantastic. He just does the dishes with a soft smile, they made a home.

They get a few calls from hunters, Dean has all of their phones forwarded to his, disposes of the old ones. There’s no point in having like fifty burner phones when one will do, Dean had said. And Sam didn’t bother listing the reasons why it mattered, just did the research for imaginary cases. Dean got bored then, would sometimes slip under the desk with a mischievous grin.

It’s all going well until it isn’t, and reality slams back into him rudely.

Dean’s cleaning the guns they never use anymore, when his hand slips and he touches a knife, skin sizzling.

Sam jumps up at the noise, reaching for the nearest silver knife, throws it at him.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Sam demands when it doesn’t kill him.

The shifter laughs, plucks the knife out of his chest and approaches slowly. “You’ve known I’m Dean 2.0 from the beginning Sammy. No need to play coy now.”

Sam’s eyes flit between the weapons bag and the knife in his hand. “You- you switched all the silver knives.”

He chuckles, “Give the man a cigar! Well, I did miss one. My bad kiddo.”

Sam gulps, backing up, “You’re real.”

The shifter grins wide, all teeth, “You’re more fucked in the head than I thought baby bro.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam spits out, trying to circle to the weapons bag.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says, flashing forward, a blow to the head knocking Sam unconscious.

.

Sam wakes up tied to their bed, spread eagle with the knots too tight to even try to undo one-handed. His wrists and ankles already ache a bit, and he’s sure it’s only going to get worse. A fucking shifter, a goddamn shifter had been living with him. He’d- fuck.

“Hey baby,” he says, and Sam opens his eyes, glares as not-Dean joins him on the bed, kneels between his thighs. “You could have just played along, no need for all this,” he says gesturing, “I know it can’t be easy after the cage.”

Sam spits in his face, “Shut up, you don’t know anything.”

He sighs, wipes away the spit and backhands him hard, making his ears ring. “We’ve been here for months Sam. I know everything about you and your brother, I am your brother. A better Dean and you wanted me. The version that loves you back, the me that’s just as twisted as you.

“I wore your brother’s face for too long, it became my own by mistake. But then I found you.” The shifter strokes his face softly, Sam’s stomach twisting with delight and disgust. “And I knew it, this was my true skin. You’ll always be mine Sammy, my little-”

A silver blade pierces the shifter’s chest, and he’s roughly shoved off him. There’s another Dean standing behind him, Sam wonders how they both missed this one coming in, how long it’s been there.

“I’m the only one that gets to call him that,” he says, wiping the knife on his jeans before cutting Sam loose. “You alright Sam?”

Sam rubs his wrists, eyeing the new Dean warily. “What are you?”

“Fair,” Dean says nodding to a copy of his corpse. “I just killed with silver so, you got some holy water and salt?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, getting some from the bedside cabinet.

Dean passes both tests, “It’s me Sam. What have you been doing? Were you hunting a shifter?”

Sam does the same, and Dean’s words convinced him even more than the tests. This wasn’t a dream or illusion, it’s really Dean. His stomach twists, bile burning that he swallows back down.

“Food,” Sam says, and they move into the kitchen. He starts cooking some pasta, simple enough that even he can’t fuck it up. He only goes in the fridge once for beer, winces at the lamb chops that were supposed to be tonight’s dinner. Dean- not-Dean- had been so excited about them.

“I haven’t been hunting,” Sam says, stirring the pasta.

“What? What the hell have you been doing then?”

Sam bites his lip, and Dean gets up, starts really looking around the cabin. “Have you been playing house with fake me? Really Sam?”

Sam swallows, “I-”

“You couldn’t tell it wasn’t me?” Dean yells, hand slapping down on the counter. “How many people have died in the past year Sam? How could you be so selfish-”

“I didn’t think it was real!” Sam exclaims. “I thought it was a djinn okay?”

“You thought-” Dean deflates, rubs a hand down his face, “And you just gave up? You were fine dying on me.”

Sam exhales, but Dean keeps going. “No, that’s just perfect. It’s not like I was hunting monsters in purgatory all year, fighting to stay alive and come back while you were just doing- whatever this is.”

“Well?” Dean demands. “You wanna explain that to me?”

Sam blinks away the wetness, “I couldn’t find a way to get you out of purgatory. There was nothing, it was hopeless. I was hopeless. And then not-you appeared, and everything was too easy. We were happy and researching for other hunters and it didn’t feel real.”

Sam remembers the pasta then, drains the overcooked and soft noodles. They’re pathetic, he’s pathetic. He’s empathizing with a fucking bowl of pasta.

“What changed?” Dean asks. “I didn’t exactly walk in on domestic cabin bliss.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, plating the food. “The shifter had swapped out all the silver knives, but he missed one. That’s when I realized it wasn’t a dream.”

Dean eats half a noddle before standing, “Obviously you weren’t the one cooking.”

“Uh no,” Sam mumbles.

“Whatever, grab your stuff. This place is giving me the creeps. We’ll stop by a diner on the road.”

And Sam hates leaving the cabin messy- worse that it’ll be left this way for who knows how long, mold growing on the floppy noodles. But Dean is here, for real, and Sam isn’t going to fuck that up. He packs quickly as if Dean won’t remember Rufus’s cabin only has one bed and a couch that’s clearly without bedding. Dean doesn’t say anything about it though.

“So did you talk to any of the hunters or…?” Dean asks.

“No, De- the shifter did.”

“Have you checked the phones lately?”

Sam swallows, fishing a cell out of the shifter’s pocket. “No, they were all supposed to be forwarded to this one.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Yeah I’m sure that happened. Alright let’s barbecue up fake me and then get some real barbecue. There’s a case only sixty miles from here, probably vamps. You can research the area while I play phone tag.”

Sam follows him, out into the backyard to burn the body and then to the impala’s passenger seat. He hates that there’s any longing in his chest as they leave. He has the real Dean- no part of him should want to go back to not-dreamland. The shapeshifter’s words echo in his head, you wanted me, and Sam’s sick, shouldn’t be allowed near real Dean.

“Hey,” Dean says as they pull into a local diner. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam lies. “What about you?”

Dean grins, “We’re back, I’m awesome.”

Sam smiles, can fake it until things feel almost normal again. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Dean tastes like everywhere or what he sounds like when- it’s not true anyways. He only has imitation knowledge, really knowledge of the shifter. And maybe if he thinks that enough times, engraves it into the insides of his skull, he’ll even believe it.

(At least in the cage Lucifer only used Dean to torture, that was easier to get over.)

“Hey, you coming?” Dean asks, outside the car.

“Yeah, shit,” Sam says, undoing his seat belt and getting out. “Sorry.”

Dean shrugs, “S’okay. This place is supposed to have the best pie in state.”

Sam grabs his laptop from the backseat with a soft laugh. “How convenient.”

“You bet. I’m thinking five course meal, all pie,” Dean says with pure glee.

Sam snorts, “Course six is gonna be upchucking.”

Dean opens the door, bell tinkling, “Ye of little faith Sammy. Just you wait.”

And Sam follows him in, the walk back into civilization easier than he thought it would be.

[the-queen-unitato]

Benny snarled and spun in a circle, holding his macuahuitl in front of him defensively as the white light slowly faded around him. He’d been in the middle of chopping down a group of leviathan when the damn light surrounded him, turning the monsters to soot and whipping his hat from his head.

The wind had finally settled, and the light was fading, but anything that could ash something as powerful as a leviathan wasn’t going to get off that easy.

“Benny..?”

Benny froze, his grip going slack on the bone handle of his weapon. He knew that voice. “D-Dean..?” He squinted against the remains of the light, holding his hand up to shield his eyes as his friend slowly materialized through the mist. “The hell did you do brother?”

Dean grinned, dragging him into a hug and clapping his back. “Christ it’s good to see ya man. Shit hit the fan and… Fuck I needed to talk to you… I found a spell book at the bunker and Sam, Cas and I managed to scrounge up everything we needed for a rescue mission.”

Benny slowly relaxed, hugging him back. “You got your brother to help you get me back? Did he know what he was doin’?”

Dean nodded, slowly pulling back and handing Benny his cap. “Yeah… We talked about it, you’re coming back to stay at the bunker with us... I’m not lettin’ you down this time, I swear.”

Benny hesitated, for a moment, stepping back. “Prove you’re really Dean… And how’d this spell of yours only grab me?”

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling a silver dagger from a sheath on his belt, slicing his arm and splashing himself with holy water. “I uh… Kept your hat when I realized you weren’t comin’ back. Spell called for something belonging to the target.”

Benny frowned, looking down at the cap in his hands, his fingers unconsciously closing over the fabric. “Why the hell’d you keep my hat?”

Dean shrugged, blushing slightly as he lead the way out of the woods. “Just get in the car will ya? You need a fucking shower.”

Benny laughed, climbing in and settling into his seat. “So I’m finally gonna get to see this bunker, huh? Sure Sam ain’t gonna kill me in my sleep?”

“He won’t, really I shoulda made ‘im listen to me before but… Guess I’m just better at keepin’ my mouth shut,” he laughed bitterly, steering them down the mountain trail. “I’m… Sorry, ya know. I never should have hung you out to dry like I did… Guess I didn’t realize how shitty I was till Sam came back without you…”

Benny shrugged, looking out the window, “doesn’t matter. I don’ belong here Dean, wish you’d’a left me alone down there… I ain’t meant to be a part of the livin’.”

“Hey, you do alright?” Dean grumbled, lightly punching his arm. “You’re family, we don’t give up on family.”

Benny laughed softly, shaking his head. “I know ya don’t… Ya mind if I catch some shut eye?”

Dean sighed, nodding. “Course, I’ll wake ya when I find a place for the night.”

Benny didn’t bother responding, letting the bone deep exhaustion finally take over.

When Dean woke him up halfway to the bunker nearly twelve hours later he was still dead on his feet, leaning heavily on Dean as he walked into their motel room and collapsing onto the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt safe enough to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

By the time he woke up again, Dean was sprawled on the other bed, sound asleep. He sighed, sitting up and scrubbing his hands through his hair. It didn’t matter what Dean said, he’d always come second to Sam, and he didn’t want to go back to living how he had been but… He could also never abandon his friend when he so obviously needed him.

He sighed, dragging himself off the bed and into the shower, watching the water run black at his feet. It’d been years, but of course Dean would come get him when he needed something… and damned if he wasn’t going to do anything he could for the idiot.

He scrubbed himself clean, wrapping his wounds as best as he could by himself and throwing himself back onto the bed. He should leave now, spare himself the heartbreak when he finished helping Dean with whatever he needed, save himself from the months of trying to make it by himself again before he bit it but… He couldn’t. Could never do that to Dean.

He grumbled to himself at the familiar feeling of his fangs itching under his gums. Of course he’d need food, it’d be too easy if he could just go back to sleep. He scented the air, following his nose to the fridge and grinning when he found it stocked up with AB blood, so the human did pay attention sometimes.

He forced himself to take a breath, sipping the blood as he walked back to bed and curled up. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, at least he’d get to spend time with Dean again, and maybe he could win his brother over… As long as he wasn’t alone, it wasn’t too bad out in this world, and maybe he could do better this time. When the hunter inevitably left him alone, maybe he could get it right. Third time’s the charm… Maybe.

It’s months before anything of note really starts going down hill, much to Benny’s surprise. Sure, Sam started off still hating him, but that was to be expected. He’d even managed to grow on the kid a bit since he’d been there but… No, this was different. The brothers were taking more cases, leaving him behind. He’d be stuck in the bunker by himself for days, weeks, at a time…

Not that that’s the worst thing that could happen, they wanted to keep him safe, reduce the risk of a rogue hunter taking him down (not that they’d be able to), but still: being locked up by himself, no one to talk to, nothing to fight, nothing to keep his mind from turning on him...

Still, it wasn’t the boys’ fault, they were just trying to keep him safe… Right? But what if they were just tired of having him around? What if they needed a break, what if this was the calm before they kicked him back out into the world..? Could he make it this time?

No… No he couldn’t go through that again, it was too much, he couldn’t go back to living in fear, alone, miserable… At least in Purgatory no one lied, they all wanted to kill you just as much as the next person, here… Everything had ulterior motives, everyone was out to get you in one way or another, but you never knew how.

But what could he do, really? Could a vampire kill themselves? And what if Dean decided he needed him again once he was gone, he couldn’t risk him hurting himself…

“Benny, you here..?”

Benny snapped out of his thoughts, dragging himself off his cot and going to meet the boys in the war room. “Welcome back,” he forced himself to smile, looking passed the blood drenching their clothes.

“Hey Benny- dibs on the shower!” Sam hurried off down the hall, leaving Benny to flinch at the gust of air he created.

“You should’ve called- How about I make us all somethin’ to eat? We haven-”

“Not today, man,” Dean cut him off, patting his shoulder. “Hunt went sour, I need to sleep for a week…”

Benny looked down, letting his facade fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself. “Yeah, course chief, get yourself some rest, maybe tomorrow…”

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow,” Dean smiled, walking passed him and vanishing into his room.

Benny bit his lip, staring at the ground in front of him long past the time all other sounds in the bunker had died down, Sam and Dean both sound asleep in bed.

Finally he clenched his fists, nails biting into the cold skin of his palms, and went back to his room, alone… Always alone.

For once he didn’t pretend to be okay, he was tired of being okay, he was damn tired of everything, he wanted to feel warmth again, taste food, have someone- anyone- that would care about him enough to put him first… Just once in a while… Most of all he was fucking tired of pretending for the sake of the brothers when they wouldn’t give a damn even if they knew.

Instead he curled up, dragging a pillow to his chest and letting himself break down for the first time in over a hundred years.

He has no idea how much later, hours or minutes, it all felt the same lately, but then the bed is dipping under someone else’s weight, and he’s frantically wiping his tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it man..?” Dean’s sleep rough voice cuts into him deeper than any blade and he flinches away from the hand that’s laid on his shoulder. Dean shouldn’t see him like this, the kid had enough to worry about.

“Ain’t noth-”

“Don’t.”

Benny slowly rolls to face him, sitting up and staring at the bare bed under him - no point for blankets if you can never get warm. “I’m just tired‘s all… Go back to bed brotha.”

Dean shook his head, laying his hand back on his shoulder and making himself comfortable. “Not a chance in hell, man. You ain’t like Sam and me, you got nothin’ keepin’ you here, and I’m sure as fuck not losing you again. Talk.”

“God, I ain’t gonna off myself,” but hadn’t he been trying to think of how to do just that hours earlier? “Just ti-”

“Benny stop it. This ain’t really my thing but… I’m here man, you’re family, I’m not leaving you here like this.”

“I really am just tired,” Benny sighed, looking down. “Tired o’ all this… I’m not… Like you, you and Sam are happy with each other, but that ain’t me… I’m… Tired of always being cold, of not being able to taste… Feel… This ain’t the life I want...”

Dean sighed, pulling him into a tight hug and clapping his back. “Stop… I know you want the whole picket fence deal I… That ain’t this life, but we love you man, Sam, Cas and me… You’re family. Just as much as any of us. You can come to us… Hell these old men had some powerful shit stored here, maybe we can fix you… Just don’t… Don’t leave us… me…”

Benny took a breath, laying his hand over Dean’s. “‘M not goin’ anywhere chief, your dumbass would get yourself killed without me…”

Dean snorted, patting his shoulder, “been there, done that… You need to get some sleep big guy, I’ll see you in the-”

“Stay..?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the word made it’s way out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“You… Yeah- yeah sure,” Dean hesitated for a moment before lying back, folding his arms awkwardly across his chest. It’s not like he hadn’t slept next to Benny every damn night in purgatory, but something was different when it was in an actual bed.

“You don’t have to,” Benny laid back down, curling himself around his pillow and no, that just wouldn’t do.

Dean gently untangled him, pulling him against his chest and holding him tight, trying to convince himself it was the exact same thing he used to do when Sam had nightmares. “Like hell, you’ve saved my ass how many times? The least I can do is hold your dumbass for a while.”

Benny smiled weakly, clinging onto him and slowly willing himself to relax, focusing on Dean’s heartbeat under him. “Guess you’re right, you were pretty useless.”

“Yeah yeah, shut up will you?” Dean chuckled fondly, slowly relaxing into him and rubbing his back. “Get to sleep, I’ll stay here for the night.”

Benny bit his lip, forcing himself to draw back and shake his head. “Nah- you should get back to your room and get some real sleep, don’t need me keepin’ you up.”

“Hey, Benny?”

Benny took a breath, forcing himself to look up and meet his eyes, “yeah chi-” he grunted in surprise as Dean’s lips slammed into his in what could hardly be considered a kiss.

It took a moment for them both to relax, Benny’s hands drifting to cup Dean’s cheeks and Dean’s dropping to hold his hips.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Benny whispered once they parted, keeping his eyes shut - just in case Dean was gone when he opened them.

“Oh please, that’s been a long time coming… Wasn’t gonna say anything, it ain’t the life... But you seemed like you could use something to hold onto. And you sure as hell weren’t listening to me, stubborn bastard.”

Benny smiled softly, resting his head on his shoulder. “Guess you’re right… but... why innit? I’m a lot tougher than I look, I can hold my own…”

“I’ve… Been worried you’d quit on me if I brought you somewhere you could,” Dean admitted sheepishly, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t lose you again man…”

Benny sighed, pressing closer. “Been thinking about it bu’... Couldn’t do that to ya.”

Dean smiled softly, kissing his head, “then maybe it can work… Guess I’ll have to start getting two rooms…” “Guess you will…”