#like early season Dean did it would both break and fix them

[hells-plaid-angel]

Dean had the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. After years of holding his breath as he drove through tunnels, he'd honed the skill, only gasping for breath when the Impala's windshield broke through the darkness and into the light. The habit had formed as a child but lingered into adulthood as most childhood fantasies did.

As a boy, his father raised him on superstition. If you made a wish when the world was swallowed by blackness and you could hold your breath until the end of a tunnel, that wish would come true. Over the years he'd wished for a hundred stupid things. He'd wished his mother was still alive, that he lived a normal life or that a pretty girl would look his way. He'd wished his father had been the one who'd died in the fire. He wished he didn't feel that way.

Once Dean had blacked out in the backseat of the Impala when driving the I-90 through Boston. He'd come to with Sammy squealing like a stuck pig and John Winchester cursing like a sailor. For the next year, being in Massachusetts made him feel light-headed.

Kids and old men are similar in their love of rituals. Dean was no longer a child, but he wasn't ready to call himself an old man. The ritual had changed over the years, but at its heart, it was always the same.

Dean found his new ritual each night he woke from a nightmare. That night, he found himself in the bunker. The image of his hands covered in blood lingered in the darkness of the room. He held his breath wishing for the dream not to be true. He only breathed when he switched on the lights and found his hands clean. In his dreams, Cas was always dying.

The nightmares weren't helped by the fact that the angel had died, numerous times. His sleep-addled mind took time to sort fact from fiction. Had Cas come back this time?

Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that death didn't always stick. Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that the universe liked to make him suffer. Both statements were equally true.

In the nightmare, Cas had died in his arms. He'd awoken, held his breath, switched on the lights and choked out a breath, which sounded suspiciously like a sob. When the drowning feeling reseeded he found himself exiting his bedroom, searching for the object of his nightmares as a drowning man searches for land.

Dean would never admit to himself he was looking for Cas, but the knowledge was there. There were many things Dean knew but wasn't ready to admit.

Dean found the angel in the library of the bunker, absentmindedly flicking through ancient texts and Sam's collection of trashy fitness and lifestyle magazines indiscriminately. A heavy weight on his chest dissipated. Cas looked up at Dean's sharp inhale. He could breathe again.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted, as though he were late to some prearranged meeting.

"Morning, Cas," Dean spoke, for lack of a better topic of conversation. He collapsed into the seat beside Cas.

"It's currently 3:15 a.m. and the sun isn't scheduled to rise until 5:25."

"Thanks for the weather report, buddy," Dean griped. His tone lacked the usual exasperated edge he used when Cas said something that struck him as particularly alien, which was often.

"How are you, Dean? You seem... unmoored."

People in the twenty-first century didn't use words like 'unmoored'. Dean knew exactly what Cas wasn't saying. Dean seemed upset. If there was one thing Dean didn't cope well with, it was being anything less than 'fine'. They were experts in each other's pathology, which would always feel strange. Dean wasn't used to being known.

"Can we talk about something else?" Dean had been working on the concept of denial. However, avoidance was fair game.

"If I'm going to be staying here long term, I want to buy better magazines," Cas stated, tossing the magazine haphazardly. He'd been staying for longer than usual. Dean kept feeling like he was holding his breath, waiting for the angel to disappear.

"We can drive into town come morning. Need to clear my head anyway."

"You haven't been sleeping well," Cas observed, his eyes shifting their attention to Dean. The blue-grey eyes said more than his words. His eyes were an ocean to an inexperienced swimmer. Not everyone could read them. Dean could. There was something more to them. A strong rip beneath steady water. There was a storm raging beneath the surface.

"It's creepy that you've noticed that," Dean remarked.

"You haven't been very quiet."

Dean wondered how much Cas heard. Did he talk in his sleep? Did he call out Cas' name in the night? Had the angel heard the moments of weakness where Dean had let himself muffle sobs behind his hand?

"This isn't changing the subject."

"I've been changing the subject all week. Evidently, it's not working," Cas' voice was resolute.

He and Dean shared their stubbornness, which always led to unproductive stalemates. They were two bucks with their antlers interlocked, starving and trapped in their own idiocy.

"The thing about being human, Cas, is that things don't magically just get fixed because you want them to." Dean rebuked.

"I'm aware, but have you actually tried to fix it?"

They were fighting. Why were they fighting?

"Talking never really solved much in my line of work. You know that."

"Is this about work?" Cas questioned.

They hadn't had any difficult hunts in weeks. Cas knew it wasn't about the job. He wanted Dean to know he knew.

"It doesn't matter what it's about. That's not the point. You don't get it." Dean felt the truth pushing its way up to the surface.

"Then help me understand."

"The problem —." Dean began before he felt anger or frustration choke the words from him.

"The problem is you keep dying."

He'd expected Cas to baulk at the confession. Dean wasn't one for sharing fears or feelings. What he hadn't expected was the look of horror that settled on the angel's face.

Dean scowled and scrubbed at his cheek, quietly cursing himself when his palm pulled back wet. Over the years, he'd gotten good at crying quietly. He hated that he was able to hide it from himself. Men didn't cry. Dean didn't cry. It was a lie, not so much a superstition, but a fable. A story he told himself.

"Dean I — I didn't realise my death... affected you so much. I apologise for the oversight," Cas spoke slowly, as though deliberately choosing each word with care.

How the hell could Cas not know his death, every goddamn one, hurt Dean? Cas was family.

"Yeah, well, I pegged you for a lot of things, Cas. Stupid wasn't one of 'em. So just... Be careful. I'm going to bed," Dean mumbled, praying for a quick exit.

Cas grabbed Dean's arm as he passed, stilling him. Dean felt the restriction return to his throat. He held his breath. He wished Cas knew what he meant without having to say it out loud.

Neither man spoke. The silence stretched long and loud between them. Cas clung to Dean's arm like a dying man to a life raft. For his part, Dean was just trying to stay afloat. Slowly, almost imperceptibly so, Cas' palm slid down to hold Dean's hand. Dean let him, which was as good as a confession.

There would be no confessions. A confession implied guilt, something that Dean had in droves, but not about Cas. It wasn't a lie so much as it was a fable. If a story was told long enough it became history.

He and Cas were still in the dark, biding time between apocalypses. He wished that when they finally found themselves in brighter times, there would be no need for confessions.

[idreamofplaid]

The Only Thing That’s Real

Square Filled: Fix It Fic

Characters: Sam x witch!Reader; Dean; Lucifer

Word Count: 8802

Summary: The reader falls in love with Sam during his darkest time, and she’s willing to do anything to help him.

Warnings: Non Con (discussed not depicted); heavy angst

A/N: This is for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo. It’s early Season 7 Sam during the time he’s hallucinating Lucifer. It is the longest one shot I’ve ever written, but it didn’t feel right to break it into smaller pieces.

Thanks to @petitgateau911 for being my beta and @thinkinghardhardlythinking for the conversations about Sam and what would be true to his character. Hugs to you both.

The motel wasn’t much; the places Dean stayed never were. His car was another story. It was impressive, and when you saw it parked outside this latest no star establishment, you knew you were in the right place.

You parked in the space next to the Impala, made your way to room 16, and knocked lightly on the green door with the peeling paint. Dean was expecting you. He answered quickly and stepped outside closing the door behind him.

He hugged you and held on a beat longer than he usually would. When he let go, you scanned his face looking for some clue about the situation but couldn’t get a solid read on him. He knew what you were doing, acknowledged your look with a nod, and said, “Thanks for coming.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t? Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” You shifted the bag on your shoulder. “I’ve never seen you like this.” That worried you because you had seen and heard a lot when it came to Dean. Usually, he called on you in need of your witch skills. You’d always had just the right spell for him, but your instinct told you this situation was something else.

Dean’s eyes clouded over for a second. “Sam’s not doin’ so good. He... needs somebody to watch him.” Dean dragged his fingers down his cheek. “He doesn’t know what’s real, Y/N.”

You tried to mask your reaction from Dean. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this; this was bad. “I see.” You eyed the door behind Dean, imagining what you’d find behind it. 

Dean blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come here. This is too much to ask you to deal with.”

You put your hand on Dean’s arm to settle him. “You called me because just maybe I can help. At the very least, I can make sure he’s not alone and give you a chance to take care of what you need to.” With a little pat, you let your hand drop from Dean’s arm. “Why don’t you give me the short version of what’s happening and then introduce me to this little brother you’ve been hiding?”

The story Dean told was horrifying. Sam had been locked in a cage with the devil in hell. “He has nightmares, Y/N. All the time. He’s been having them ever since his memories of hell came back to him. The things he says in his sleep make my blood run cold.” Dean made a fist, rested his chin on it, and closed his eyes. 

You moved closer and put your arm around him. “I know this is hard for you, Dean.” He dropped his fist and started shaking his head.

“He’s my little brother. I’m supposed to take care of him, and I can’t help him.” Dean took a couple of steps away from you so your arm was no longer around him. You knew Dean well enough to know he felt like he didn’t deserve the comfort because in his mind he’d failed his brother.

“Dean, you are doing everything you can; you always have.” He bent his head back, looked at the sky, let out a deep breath, and then let it fall forward again until his chin was almost touching his chest.

“Y/N, I’m starting to believe things happened to him that the demons torturing me when I was in hell only threatened to do. Just remembering the threat of it kept me awake at night for years after I got out. Now, he’s seeing things. Seeing Lucifer. And Lucifer taunts him, reminds of him of what he did and tells him he’s going to do it again.”

Dean started to pace. “Sam gets this terrified look in his eyes sometimes, and I know he’s seeing Lucifer, hearing him. Sam begs him not to do it again, and he talks about how cold it is inside. He’s afraid of the cold.” Dean chewed at his lip, and looked for a minute like he might start crying. 

“They tear you apart in hell, piece by piece, then put you back together to do it again. It hurts more than there are even words to describe. They mess with your mind. That’s worse than the physical pain. They make you believe all kinds of shit that isn’t real. But I think Lucifer did something to Sam even worse than all that.”

You closed the distance between the two of you and put your hand on Dean’s arm again. “What do you think happened to Sam?”

Dean shook his head harder than he had before. “No. I can’t. I can’t say it out loud. I don’t want to.” 

“Okay, Dean. You don’t have to say it.” You tried to calm him with your voice, but it was having little effect. This was bad for both of them. You felt your stomach drop, knowing how they both had suffered. No one should hurt like that. “How about you introduce me to Sam now? Let me see him.”

Dean gave you a silent nod then turned and opened the door. You followed him into the mostly darkened room. What you saw in that room caused your heart to leap up into your throat; the sight in front of you created an emptiness in the center of your being and fanned to life a dormant flame inside you. Dean’s brother was sitting on the edge of the bed, head and shoulders slumped over. He was powerfully built, taller and with wider shoulders than even Dean’s. His hair was falling over those shoulders and his face. You held your breath for a second or two. You could sense his soul, felt connected to him and the pain he was bravely trying to manage. This man was beautiful, and he was broken.

Dean closed the door behind you and said, “Sammy, there’s somebody I want you to meet.” Sam slowly raised his head. His eyes were haunted, the horrors he held in his mind reflected there. When he saw you, he tried to sit up a little straighter. “Sam, this is Y/N. She’s an old friend of mine.”

Sam attempted a smile. “Hi. Did Dean ask you to come babysit me?” There was nothing bitter or angry in his question. 

You weren’t sure how to best answer him, deciding to go with at least part of the truth. “That’s not exactly how he put it. He said you weren’t feeling so good, and you know how Dean worries; he didn’t want to leave you alone. All these years I’ve known him, you’ve been the mysterious brother I’ve never met. I wanted to change that.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first night passed without incident. You’d taken a chance and brought along a chessboard, thinking maybe Sam and his Ivy League mind might like the game. It was a good move; it gave you both something to focus on other than the awkward situation you were in together.

Sam was nothing like Dean, but he had his own kind of charm. He could carry on a conversation in a way that made you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world, and he could talk about any number of things. The two of you discussed everything from favorite childhood books to Spanish architecture, and the conversation was easy.

It was almost impossible, while at the same time nearly natural, to imagine Sam as a hunter. Dean got a certain thrill and satisfaction from hunting. You didn’t sense any of that in Sam, but he certainly had the mind to put the pieces of a puzzle together and solve a case. The way he was built he could take on any monster, and you couldn’t help but notice his eyes were beautiful. They were a mosaic of green, gold, and amber. You could have easily indulged in staring at them endlessly; you appreciated and were drawn to the depth you saw in those eyes. 

You passed a comfortable evening together, and when it was time for bed; Sam took the first turn in the bathroom. That left you alone for a few minutes to gather your thoughts. So far things were going well, but you knew that could change in an instant. You centered and grounded yourself, then cast a quick protection spell over the room. It wouldn’t be long before you would find out that nothing could protect Sam from his own mind. 

Sam slept peacefully in one of the double beds and you in the other until the first faint light of the sunrise began to filter through the golden orange curtains casting a tinted light over the room. That’s when Sam started to yell and plead. “No. No. Not again. Please.”

The pitiful sounds he was making tore you from your sleep, and you went to him. “Sam. Sam.” When calling his name didn’t work, you lightly touched his shoulder. He bolted awake and grabbed your wrist, wrapping his huge hand around it. You knew he could break your wrist, but you didn’t feel the slightest twinge of fear. It was something else entirely you were feeling. You wanted to protect him from whatever it was that was tormenting him and take away his tremendous pain.

You tried speaking to him softly. “Sam, it’s okay. Nothing can hurt you here. It’s alright.”

He looked at you with wide and confused eyes. “Y/N?” Sam looked down at his hand that was still grasping your wrist. He let go. “I’m...I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He sounded ashamed of what he’d done.

“No, Sam. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.” You wiggled your fingers and swiveled your wrist. “See? Everything still works.” He watched your motions, and they appeared to reassure him a little. Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. 

He ran his fingers through his hair and scanned the room. He still seemed a little disoriented. “What...what did I do?” He looked to you for the answer. 

You wanted to put your hand on him again, soothe him with your touch, but now that he was awake; you didn’t do that. You tried to comfort him with the tone of your voice instead. “You were talking in your sleep. It sounded like...like someone was hurting you. Do you want to talk about it, Sam?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “No. It’s...I’m okay.”

Two days later, Dean still wasn’t back. He texted everyday to check in, and you replied back with a confidence you didn’t feel that you had everything under control. Sam had slept fitfully both nights, but nothing else had happened as bad as that first morning until Sam completely cracked in front of you. 

You were playing a game of chess, and as near as you could tell, Sam was about three moves away from claiming your king when he jumped out of his chair to stand in front of you. His arms were outstretched in a protective gesture, blocking something that wasn’t there from getting to you, and he was talking to the empty space. “Stay away from her. Don’t you dare try to touch her.”

You stood up behind him. “Sam?”

He reached back and circled one of his arms around your waist and pulled you close against his back. “I won’t let him near you, Y/N. I promise. I WILL NOT let him hurt you.”

“Who, Sam? Who do you think is going to hurt me?” You reached for his shoulder, as you had during that first nightmare, and lay your hand on it trying to bring him back to reality again. 

Sam’s voice took on a hard steel edge. “It’s Lucifer. He thinks he can do to you what he did to me, but I will NEVER let that happen.” Then Sam started to talk to the empty air, his voice full of conviction. “You can do anything you want to me. You already have. Drag me back to hell and do it all again, but you won’t get to her. I. Won’t. Let. You.”

You started to rub the back of Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, there’s no one there.”

“Y/N, get back!” He started walking backwards, pushing you along behind him until you hit the wall. Then Sam turned and wrapped his arms around you, shielding you with his body. 

He was pressed firmly against you, and it took some effort to push him back far enough to get your hands on each side of his face. “Sam, look at me.” You positioned his face so he was looking directly into your eyes. “Look in my eyes.” You saw the instant his hazel eyes focused on you. “That’s it, Sam. We’re fine. No one’s here. Just us.”

Sam took a couple of steps back; he looked around the room, and then he slowly backed all the way to the bed and sat down. His eyes met yours, and he swallowed hard before he said anything. “I’m sorry.” His words were soft and tortured; you couldn’t keep your distance from him. You joined him on the bed, sitting so close that your leg almost touched his.

You put your hand on his cheek again, much more softly this time, knowing full well that he knew where he was and realized what you were doing. “Sam, you don’t need to apologize to me. You haven’t done anything wrong. Tell me what you see. Tell me what’s going on in your mind.”

Sam’s eyes searched yours, like he was trying to determine how much he could tell you. He reached his decision, and he let you in.  “He taunts me. Reminds me of everything he did to me when I was in hell.” Sam took a long pause and shifted his eyes away from yours. You lowered your hand and put it over his. He rotated his hand so he could close his fingers over yours. Now, he had something to hold onto.

“He says he’s going to do it all again. Says he loves the way I try to hold out, makes it more satisfying when I scream.” Sam shuddered. You rubbed your fingers gently over the back of his hand, hoping it gave him some comfort. Sam closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he said in a strained voice, “He tells me I’m still in hell; I’m with him. He lets me believe you’re real to make it worse when he takes you away.” Tears were shining in his eyes, threatening to fall.

You tightened your fingers around his. “I’m real, Sam. I’m here with you. No one else. Just me.” Slowly, you let go of his hand so you could comb your fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “I’m the only thing that’s real, Sam. He closed his eyes again, tighter this time than the first and nodded. You put your arms around him and hugged him close. “Do you feel that, Sam? It’s real. You’re safe.”

Sam turned toward you and wrapped his arms around you. He was struggling to steady his breath. “Tell me again that you’re here.”

You slipped your fingers into his hair and held the back of his head. “I am, Sam. I’m here.”

That night you slept in the same bed; Sam held you, and he slept without nightmares or hallucinations. You listened to him breathe, felt the warmth of his body next to your back, and the feelings you had for him grew deeper and took root in your soul. You whispered into the darkened room, “You’re not alone, Sam. You never will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your life went back to normal when you went back home, but it was forever changed. You couldn’t get the image of a tall, handsome, and troubled hunter out of your mind. At night, you lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Sam could sleep. It was one of those sleepless nights that you finally threw back the covers and got out of bed intent upon doing something to answer the questions that kept spinning through your head. 

You took your scrying bowl from the cabinet where you stored it and filled it with water. Your altar was still set up from your last ritual; the candles were still there as well as a place for the bowl. You placed the bowl on the altar and lit the candles surrounding it. The water caught the light from the candles and reflected it up to you. You concentrated on the light and let your vision go hazy. 

A vision of Sam appeared on the water. His palms were pressed against both sides of his head. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, the way you had seen them in person, and Dean was standing next to him. He was saying something to Sam that you couldn’t make out, but Sam dropped his hands and opened his eyes. They were wide open now and filled with fear. He backed away from his brother, clearly scared and trying to get away from something that was terrifying him.

The image of Sam disappeared, and you sat on the floor in front of your altar stunned. You wrapped your arms around your body and hugged yourself. What had you thought you would see? You’d seen the condition he was in for yourself, and it hadn’t just mercifully disappeared. For the rest of the night, you didn’t move from that spot. You sat there in the dark and watched the candles burn down.

By the time morning came, you were exhausted. Fortunately, you had been your own boss since you left the graphic design company you worked for two years ago and gone freelance, but you still had clients and work to do. With that in mind, you were making a strong pot of coffee in the hope it would keep you awake enough to deliver the designs you’d promised. 

Your plan was good, but it wasn’t working. You were distracted and preoccupied. For the third time since the sun came up, you picked up your cell phone with the intention of calling, or at least texting, Dean. What were you going to say? I can’t get your brother out of my mind since I managed to fall in love with him after spending three days with him. Or maybe, I saw him in a bowl of water last night, and I’m worried about him. No, you couldn’t do that. It didn’t matter how much you felt otherwise; your life was not actually connected to Sam’s. Dammit. You put your phone down on the counter with a thud, and snatched open a cabinet to get a mug. 

You had work to do, bills had to be paid. With that in mind, you grabbed the coffee pot and started to fill your mug. The memory of Sam’s hazel eyes flooded your mind; you didn’t stop pouring when you should have, and your cup overflowed, creating a huge mess. You mopped up the spilled coffee and threw the dish towel into the sink with a frustrated sigh.

As it turned out, you didn’t have to pretend to be productive for very long because by mid morning Dean was calling you. As soon as you saw his name on your caller ID, your heart started to pound. You snatched up the phone. “Dean?” Maybe he heard the panic in your voice, maybe he didn’t because he had worries of his own.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry to bother you again.” You wanted to interrupt him, wanted to blurt out all your questions about Sam, but you didn’t, even though Dean was taking way too long to get to the point in your opinion. “Do you think you could spare some time away again? I wouldn’t ask, but Sam...he’s getting worse. I’m afraid he might hurt himself, Y/N, because he can’t take it anymore. He’s getting more lost in his head, and...he’s asking for you.”

“Asking for me?” You sat down, and your already fast beating heart started to beat a little faster. 

You heard Dean sigh over the phone. “Yeah. Whenever he’s out of it, sometimes he thinks you’re here. Then when he realizes you aren’t, he gets upset.” Another sigh. “I don’t know what else to do, Y/N.”

Dean might not know, but you did. “I’ll come. Where are you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby was another person Dean had mentioned over the years. He’d never said much about his house though, and it was a sight to behold. Once you got past the yard and more junk cars than you had ever seen, the inside was also remarkable. Here, you found more books than you had ever seen outside a library. Practically every surface was covered with them. 

Dean gave you a bit of a tour of the place while he updated you on Sam. “I don’t think he’s sleeping anymore. We’ve been in some tight spots, but this has me knocked on my ass.” For Dean to be admitting anything of the kind was a rare occurrence, and it scared you. The final stop on the tour was an upstairs bedroom at the end of the hall where Sam was staying. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, much as he had been the first time you ever saw him. Only now, there were dark circles under his pain filled eyes, and it was clear what Dean had said was true. Sam had barely slept in a long time, if at all.

He was hugging himself just like you had on the floor in front of your altar, and he smiled when he saw you. You crossed the room, sat beside him, and gave him a lingering hug. When you parted, Sam’s smile got bigger. “Y/N, you’re here.”

You returned his smile. “Yeah, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay now.” 

 Dean was still standing in the doorway, but you had forgotten him until he spoke. “I’m just gonna go.” You turned to acknowledge what he’d said, and he was staring intently at you and his brother. His gaze travelled from you to Sam and back. He tilted his head in your direction then left, closing the door behind him. 

All of your attention went back to Sam. “When was the last time you slept?”

He was slow in answering you, but once more he let you in. “It’s been a day or two; I don’t know exactly. Time is kinda running together.” You noticed the bed you were sitting on was neatly made. Had he even tried to sleep recently, or had he just given up? 

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm to soothe him, and you felt some of the tension leave his body at your touch. You did this for a few minutes then told him, “Sam, I’m going to go make you some tea. I think it will help you sleep.” You’d come prepared, bringing some herbs with you that might help him.

Sam reached for your hand as you started to stand. “Don’t go yet. Stay here with me.”

You lowered yourself back to the bed. “Okay, but I want you to try to rest.” You fluffled the pillows and said to him, “Lie back.” Sam hesitated. You kneeled in front of him and took both his hands in yours. “Do you see him now, Sam?”

His eyes darted to the corner of the room. “Yeah. He doesn’t go away. That’s why I can’t sleep. He won’t let me.” There was a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to cry. That wasn’t what Sam needed right now. 

“Well, I’m not going away either. I’m going to lie down with you, and I’m going to stay next to you. Alright?” 

Sam was looking at your hands joined together. “Okay. I just want you with me.”

You settled back on the pillows with Sam and guided his head down to your shoulder. You slipped your fingers through his hair over and over, resisting the urge to kiss his head. “Try to close your eyes. I won’t let anything happen to you, Sam.” 

After several minutes of lying there in the quiet stroking Sam’s hair, you shifted to take your phone out of your pocket. Sam sat up quickly, jolted out of the peace you’d given him. “Don’t go, Y/N.” There was no fear in his eyes now. It had been replaced by an empty resignation, and that was worse. 

You cupped his cheek in your hand. “I told you I wouldn’t go, Sam. I’m not.” You held up your phone so he could see it. “I’m just going to text Dean and ask him to bring me what I need to make the tea.” You could see Sam thinking, then he put his head back on your shoulder and draped his arm over your waist to hold you close. 

Moving as little as possible, you typed out your text to Dean. Bring me the herbs I put in the kitchen,  a pot of hot water, and a teacup. 

In a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. This time, you told Sam before you moved. “I’m going to go answer the door. I’ll be right back.”

Dean was standing on the other side, holding a tray filled with everything you’d asked him to bring. You put your hands on the tray to take it from him, and Dean whispered, “How is he?”

“He’s quiet, but it isn’t good.” You had been rolling an idea around in your head, debating if you should do it. Acknowledging Sam was in bad shape out loud helped you make up your mind. “Dean, I want you to see if Bobby has a book on Medieval Italian witchcraft, ideally a grimoire. If he does, bring it to me.” 

He glanced past you to get a look at Sam. “Are you going to do a spell?” 

Saying it was a spell was a bit of an understatement. “I’m going to help him, Dean. Find that book.”

You returned to Sam and put the tray down on the bedside table. You opened the large plastic bag filled with smaller bags of herbs and selected the ones you wanted. You sprinkled some of each herb in the cup then poured hot water over them. Sam was watching you. The look on his face told you he was more interested in making sure you didn’t disappear than in what you were doing. 

The tea steeped for a couple of minutes, then you gave it to Sam. He wrapped both his hands around the cup and asked, “What is it?”

You sat down next to him on the bed. “It’s something to quiet your mind so you can sleep.”

Sam took a sip from the cup that looked so tiny in his hands. “I’m lucky I know a witch like you.” Then he took another bigger drink.

He knew what you were. Had Dean talked about you over the years the same way he’d talked about Sam, or had Sam figured it out on his own? Had Dean told him that you were a hereditary witch with a lineage that dated back five generations? That made you powerful, and you had never been more thankful for that than right now. “Did Dean tell you?”

Sam drank some more. His voice was sounding a little stronger. “I knew he consulted a witch on some of our cases, and it looks like you know your herbs. It’s you that he went to.”

“Does that change your opinion of me? Dean isn’t very fond of witches in general.” You were nervous waiting for his answer in spite of your strong intuition backed by five generations that told you not to be.

“I’m not my brother.” His eyes met yours and something passed silently between you.

You took the now empty cup from him. “I noticed,” you answered softly.

He reached for your arm, and you felt a warmth spread through your body when he touched you. “You have a talent, Y/N. You’ve helped people; you’re helping me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was getting late into the night when you heard a soft knock at the door. You checked Sam before you got up. He was still sleeping. Dean had found exactly what you were hoping he’d find. It was a grimoire, and it looked old. He held it out to you. “You read Italian?”

You took the book from him. “As a matter of fact I do.” Your grandmother had taught you the family tradition of Italian witchcraft and learning the language was part of your training.

“Bobby says that’s not modern Italian,” Dean said, explaining his doubt that you could translate it.

“I can still read it.” Your grandmother had been thorough in her lessons.

Dean noticed his brother sleeping, and a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He looked back to you and down at the book. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You ignored him and proceeded with your next request. “Will you stay with him while I take a shower and get ready for bed?”

“You’re staying in here tonight?” Dean was trying to figure out exactly what kind of relationship you had with his brother. 

“Yes, I told him I wouldn’t leave him.” You looked over your shoulder at Sam and clutched the book you were holding a little tighter. It had to have the answer you needed in it.

You turned back to Dean, and his eyes locked on yours. “Thank you, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stayed up half the night reading the grimoire, searching for a spell that you were beginning to fear was only a legend, a story your grandmother told you when you were a girl just like she’d told you the story of Cinderella. Maybe it was just another romantic story. She had told you about a spell that had the power to cure anything. It had been created by a witch during the time of the great plague to save the man she loved. Your grandmother had made you the woman you were, the one who would do anything to save Sam. You could still hear her voice echoing in your head. “There is no greater power than love. It can protect. It can transform. It can heal.”

You were almost to the end of the grimoire and losing hope when you reached a page titled “Restoration”. Excitement began to bubble up inside you when you read the description. This was it. The list of ingredients was surprisingly simple; you’d brought everything you would need with you in your collection of herbs. All you needed to do was add a little sugar from Bobby’s kitchen. You read the directions for casting the spell, took a deep breath, and read them again to make sure you’d understood correctly. Your grandmother never told you that part.

All that is required to the diminish the ailment of your lover is your love. During the act of sexual union, focus your intention. Whatever afflicts him will be diminished by half of its force being transferred to you. If the gods have smiled upon you, he will return your love. And, should he love you in return, the affliction will be not only diminished but abolished altogether.

The weight of the words settled over you. You looked at Sam; he was still sleeping beside you undisturbed. If you took half of his mental anguish, he could at least function. He would no longer be living on the brink of a total breakdown, that should it come, might take him from you forever. You traced the line of his jaw with your fingertip; he didn’t stir. Did you love him enough to see the devil? Yes.

You made your way down to the kitchen, careful not to turn on any lights and alert anyone to your movements. Everything you needed was there as you had expected it to be. You crushed up the needed herbs, added the sugar, put it all in some water, and drank the potion. You would gladly sacrifice yourself for Sam, and you would be ready at the right time. You made a silent plea to the goddess that the right time would come soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You managed to get a couple hours of sleep before you woke and discovered Sam was no longer in bed next to you. You ran for the door and almost collided into Sam coming back into the room. He was dressed in a blue and white plaid shirt, and the emptiness was gone from his eyes. His smile was so big it deepened his dimples and made him so handsome you almost couldn’t breathe. “Hey, Y/N. You want to get some breakfast?”

“Sam, are you…?” The light in his eyes was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

He moved closer to you, so close he was only inches away. “I’m okay. For the first time, in a very long time, I feel okay.” His eyes lingered on yours, then he cupped your cheek in his hand and for several seconds you were lost in the depths of his eyes, a place you would gladly stay forever. Then Sam touched his lips to yours, and it was the softest kiss anyone had ever given you in your life. 

He pulled away, but not too far. He was still holding your face in his hands and looking into your eyes. “Kiss me again, Sam.” You parted your lips when his mouth touched yours, and he accepted the invitation. Sam’s tongue circled around yours, exploring your mouth and discovering the way you taste. You put your arms around him, wanting to hold onto him and the moment. When he felt your arms go around him, Sam deepened the kiss. 

You were nearly breathless when the kiss ended. Sam took your hand in his. “Come downstairs with me? We can have our first breakfast together.” It wasn’t lost on you that he’d said “first”. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In all the time you’d known him, you never knew Dean had such a way with eggs. You caught him looking at Sam and you throughout breakfast. When you got up to take your plate to the sink, Dean saw his opportunity and followed you. “What did you do? He hasn’t been out of that room in days.”

“I gave him some tea to clear his mind, and I stayed with him.” You stacked the dishes in the sink to give your hands something to do, very conscious of Dean closely scrutinizing you. He was trying to figure out what it was that you weren’t telling him. Now wasn’t the time to say it was your feelings for Sam that were helping him more than anything. It was then that the idyllic reprieve ended. 

Sam sank to the floor and curled in on himself. “Please, I can’t again. It already hurts so much. So cold. Hurts.”

You felt a pain shoot through your heart, and you lowered yourself to the floor beside Sam. You ran your fingers through his hair to soothe him, but he didn’t acknowledge you were there. It wasn’t helping this time.

You stood up and turned to Dean. “Help me get him back upstairs.”

Dean nearly had to carry Sam up the stairs, he was so unsteady on his feet. Once back in the room you were sharing with Sam, Dean settled his brother on the bed. You needed to get that spell cast as soon as possible if you could make Sam coherent and strong enough to consent to having sex with you. He’d never consent to you taking his pain, so you were going to keep that part to yourself. 

Sam was shaking when you crawled onto the bed next to him. His eyes were closed, and you could have cried with relief when he said your name. “Y/N?”

“Yes, Sam, it’s me.” You longed to touch him, to make it better.

He opened his eyes, and you saw the recognition in them along with the brokenness. “I’m scared, Y/N.”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close; he lay his head on the center of your chest, and you held him. “You’re okay, Sam. I promise it’s going to be okay.” Love was indeed the most powerful magic. It had made him better every time he had been near you so far, and you waited for it to work again.

Eventually the shaking stopped; he was calm in your arms. Images of the way he’d looked cowering on the kitchen floor invaded your mind. I love you, Sam. You couldn’t say the words, but they were right there in your mind along with those pictures of him that tore your heart to pieces. 

You let him know what peace he could while you battled with an inner struggle. The last thing you wanted to do was shatter that peace, but you had an awful suspicion. You needed to know, considering what you were about to do. 

“Sam?” You whispered his name quietly, and he stirred in your arms. “Tell me about the cold.”

He didn’t say anything. It was quiet, so quiet the silence hung heavy over you like a weight you could feel pressing down on your shoulders. Then Sam spoke in an unsteady whisper. “I’ve never told anyone.”

You moved your hand to the back of his head to hold it. “You know you’re safe with me, Sam, don’t you? You know you can tell me anything.”

A few more seconds passed and Sam started to breathe out through his mouth in ragged little gasps. “It’s...it’s...Lu...Lucifer. The way he feels when...when….” 

“It’s okay, Sam. Take your time. Breathe. I’m right here.” You tried to prepare yourself for what he was about to say, but that was impossible.

“When he...f...forces himself inside me.” The pain that sliced through you was more acute than if the blade of a sword had cut into you. You squeezed your eyes closed and listened to him go on.

“He did it so many times.” You couldn’t see Sam’s face, and for once you were glad you couldn’t, unsure if you could hold yourself together if you saw the expression there. “It tore at me, and I bled. But that’s not what hurt so much.” You tried to steel yourself; you had to be strong, had to fight the wave of nausea you were feeling. “It was the cold inside me, so cold it burned.”

Several more seconds passed that grew into a minute. He was done. He wasn’t going to say anything else. You knew. All you could do was continue to hold onto him; you couldn’t make that go away. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry that happened to you.” You kissed the top of his head and let your tears fall quietly into his hair. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, how long the two of you had been like that. Sam hadn’t looked at you once, his head bowed with a shame that wasn’t his to bear. He had put his arms around you at one point and held onto you tightly as if you were his touchstone with the present and reality. His grasp had loosened but his arms were still there when he said, “Why are you still here, Y/N?”

You rested your cheek on top of his head. “Because I want to help you.”

“Why? Why would you want to help me? I’m dirty.” Sam finally raised his head to look at you. His soul was in his eyes, and it was heartbreakingly sad. How had such a beautiful soul survived what he’d been through? 

“Sam, no. You aren’t.” You cupped his cheek, holding his face in your hand. 

Sam’s voice took on an edge of anguished anger. “He said no one would ever want me, would ever want anything to do with me.” Sam hung his head again, the anguish winning.

Gently, you tilted his head up until his eyes met yours. “I do. I want to be with you, Sam.” You touched your lips to his, so softly it was barely a kiss. It was such a different kind of kiss from the one he had given you that morning.

When you pulled away, Sam was looking at you in disbelief, wonder, and with a hope that what you said was true. He swallowed hard. “I haven’t been with anyone since I got my soul back and...remembered. I want to...with you.”

You closed your eyes and opened them, nodding. “You can. However you need.”

You hadn’t expected it to happen like this, this soon, but the necessary ingredients for the spell were in your system. All you had to do to activate them was say you loved him in your head during the act. You didn’t even need to say it out loud. This spell relied solely on you, your feelings and your intention. You’d already been repeating it in your mind like a mantra, and you weren’t going to stop. You loved him so much, you’d given him a part of yourself already. You would give him anything.

“You really want to be with me after what I told you?” You kissed him again as if to prove it, and this time he kissed you back. 

Sam slowly lifted your shirt over your head. He hadn’t exposed much of you yet, but he spent so long looking at you, his eyes roaming over your body, that you wondered if he had changed his mind. At last, he lowered his head and started kissing your neck. His kisses were gentle and open mouthed. He began to make a trail of them, moving lower to your breasts. Then he stopped.

You could feel his breath on your skin when he spoke. “This is okay?”

Your heart clenched and then filled with even more love for him. “Yes, Sam. Whatever you need. I want you.”

He touched you, running his fingers along the top edge of your bra and feeling the swell of your breasts. His hand rubbed over your shoulder and down the length of your arm. When he looked at you, there was no fear in his eyes; but there was hesitation. He could take as long as he wanted to resolve whatever it was that was making him hesitate.

You tried to tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t yet say. I LOVE YOU. Finding enough reassurance in your eyes, Sam kissed you. His tongue making a slow circle around yours. The kiss didn’t last very long, but it was followed by another that was a little deeper. 

Between kisses, his lips stayed near yours. “I like having you close.”

“I like it too,” you answered and hoped it encouraged him to keep going.

The next kiss was the deepest one yet, and you felt your body respond to what he was doing to you. An ache for him began to blossom in your core. You could feel yourself getting wet for him.

His lips moved so close to yours when he spoke. “Will you take it off for me? Your bra?” You nodded, your cheek brushing against his. 

You sat up a little. Sam was watching your every movement. You reached back and unfastened your bra, pulling the straps slowly down your arms. You let it drop somewhere on the bed.

Sam looked at you again, his eyes taking in every inch of you. He whispered, “You’re perfect. So beautiful.” You smiled at him, wishing you could freeze this moment. The tone of his voice and his eyes told you that for a second he had forgotten everything else.

The moment passed. Sam took off his plaid and the t-shirt underneath, peeling it off his body. Now, it was your turn to look. His eyes met yours, and they were questioning you, waiting for a response or some indication of what you were thinking. If only you could say the words you longed to say, you wanted so badly to give him yourself completely, body and heart, if only he was ready to hear them. As it was, with all the doubts he had, you didn’t want him to overwhelm him with that declaration. The words you said instead were “Can I?”

He nodded to you. “Yes.”

You let your hand wander over the muscles in his shoulders, his chest, and his stomach. “You’re beautiful too, Sam.” He closed his eyes. You continued to explore his body with the lightest touch of your fingertips, observing his reaction closely for any sign of distress.

You kept most of your touches well above his waist, letting him feel what it was to be touched by someone who loved him. He sighed, and it was a gentle sound free of strain. You smiled again, even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Sam, do you want me to take off the rest of my clothes?” He opened his eyes, and the question hung there. 

You could hear him breathing deeper now, his arousal starting. “I do want that.” 

You opened the button on your jeans, lowered the zipper, and eased them down your legs. For now, your panties were still on. They were simple, made of white cotton; they didn’t need to be anything else. There was no seduction in what the two of you were doing. It was pure, the purest thing you had ever known or felt. 

“Do you want to touch me, Sam? Let me prove to you how much I want you.” His hand reached out for you, and you took it. You guided his hand to that place beneath your legs where you were wet for him so he could feel it. 

Sam didn’t move his hand. He left it there for a few seconds before lifting it, looking at his fingers, and running his thumb over them to feel the wetness there. His lips parted as he looked to you for verification of what your body was telling him. “See. I want you.”

You slipped off your panties, lay down on the bed, and lifted your arms to him. Sam accepted your invitation, lowering himself over you, bracing his weight so it wasn’t fully on you. Now when he kissed you, his hand was moving down your side, over your hip, and back up again. “You feel so good, Y/N. Your skin is so soft, so warm.”

Feel all the warmth. Take it, my love. Your arms were around him, your hand in his hair. You were ready to do this for him, take on a portion of the horror that caused him to suffer so much. You would take it all if you could.

Sam broke the kiss. “Are you sure?”

You stared into his eyes the way you had imagined doing in that motel when you’d first met him. “I’m sure.”

Sam moved to take off his jeans. He was semi hard, not there yet. That was okay. 

He positioned himself over you again, and you put your arms back around him. You were still being careful to keep your hands on his upper back. While Sam kissed you, you could feel him continuing to harden until he was fully erect. He stopped kissing you, and looked into your eyes, searching once more. You said just one word “Yes.”

He entered you a little at a time, inch by inch, until he was completely inside. Initially, Sam stayed still within you. You bit your bottom lip, adjusting to the way he stretched you and waiting for him to move. When he didn’t, you asked, “Sam, are you okay?”

There was a pause, and then he said, “Am I hurting you?” 

You buried your face into the side of his neck and kissed him tenderly there. “No, Sam. You aren’t hurting me. I like the way you make me feel. 

He started to move with a slow rolling movement of his hips. You didn’t hold back your sounds of pleasure; you let him hear them. Sam responded by beginning to thrust.

That’s when you heard it. “You think you can fix him?” You turned your head in the direction of the mocking voice. It was him. It was working. You saw HIM.

Lucifer looked like a man, but there was a malevolence that radiated out from him. You hated that he could see you now, see you with Sam, invade this most private moment, even if he wasn’t real. He continued to mock you.

“You think you can save him? From me? It’s too late, you foolish woman.” He walked closer. You closed your eyes to block out the sight of him, but you could still hear what he was saying. “He belongs to me. I. Marked. Him.”

You wouldn’t let him violate this moment. You would endure seeing and hearing Lucifer for the rest of your life, but he couldn’t lessen this; this was beautiful. You focused on the connection, on the intimacy Sam was sharing with you. “I want you, Sam. I want you.”

The voice sounded so close, and you squeezed your eyes more tightly closed. “I told you he’s mine. I claimed him. Over and over.” You fought to hold in the sob that threatened to erupt out of you. Sam could not know what was happening. As long as you kept your eyes closed, Sam could mistake the pained grimace on your face for passion. “You should have heard him cry. He begged, pleaded with me to stop.”

Sam’s thrusts got faster. “Yes, Sam. Yes.” You wanted to dig your fingers into his back, but you didn’t. You were receiving what he gave you, what he was ready to give.

Lucifer’s voice, that was now in your head, was cruel. “You know what was the most fun?” You waited, dreading what he would say next, but Lucifer didn’t finish. You opened your eyes. He was gone. That meant….

You could say it now, the words you had been struggling to hold back, because you knew he would want to hear it. “I love you, Sam.”

His hips started to stutter, and he filled you with his release. Your walls fluttered around him, taking you right to the edge, but you didn’t come. It didn’t matter. 

Sam kept you close after he slipped from your body, rolling you onto your side to face him. You gazed into his eyes; you could look at them forever now. Sam’s heart was yours; he wanted you the way you wanted him. He verified what you were thinking by saying, “I love you too, Y/N.” You knew it, but there was nothing like hearing the words. 

“Thank you...for showing me...for giving me what you just did.” He brushed your hair from your cheek. He lowered his eyes, then lifted them back to yours. “You didn’t...did you. It wasn’t good for you. It’ll be better for you next time. I promise.”

“Don’t ever think you don’t give me enough, Sam. Don’t ever think that.” You kissed him softly and sweetly. 

“Will you let me do it now?” Sam asked you quietly. “Make you feel good.”

You traced your fingertip down his check and along his chin. “If that’s what you want. You don’t have to do anything, Sam.”

Sam covered your mouth with his, and you opened to his kiss and his touch. You spread your legs when you felt his fingers moving through your folds. He circled your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. He had already taken you so close, it wasn’t long before you were coming undone and falling into the bliss of your orgasm. 

He nuzzled his cheek against yours and whispered into your ear, “I love you.” Sam slept peacefully in your arms that night, as you did in his.

The next morning Sam woke you with his kisses. You opened your eyes, and his radiant smile greeted you. He had never smiled like that before. His dimples had never shone so bright. “He’s gone, Y/N. I can feel it.”

You smiled back at the man you loved, the man who returned your love. “He is gone, Sam, and he won’t come back. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Whatever else you needed to do to help Sam deal with what he had been through, you would. The things you might have to face together would no longer include hallucinations of Lucifer. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @sams-sass @beskaradberoya

[thegeminisage]

Here's something I'd love your take on: I read a meta recently (would link it but I can't remember where, ack) that suggested that Sam is able to forgive John in later seasons because a) he's had the whole "family making unilateral decisions for your own good" thing repeatedly shoved down his throat, and b) whatever John did under this umbrella in their childhoods, Dean has done far worse by that point, and Sam HAS to forgive him so by extension he can't really be mad at John anymore (1/2)

(2/2) As someone who has admittedly only seen bits and pieces of the later seasons, this seems to jive with Sam losing a lot of his characteristic early-seasons anger, letting Dean call the shots almost all the time even when he thinks it's the wrong move, and moments of sympathy for John (contrasted w/Dean's growing resentment, which is so interesting!). But! I got some big ol' gaps in my spn comprehension, so was curious if you had any thoughts on this dynamic

wow okay long answer warning! i got carried away and forgot how to use punctuation. nobody is obligated to read all of this lol and the biggest part of the answer is behind a cut. anyway!!

first things first: i think a big thing to remember with sam’s characterization in later seasons is that it’s like...not there, and when it is there, it’s sometimes flat and inconsistent. because dean became sole the main protagonist after the first 8 (arguably the first 5 or even first 2) seasons, sam sort of got demoted to “side character we don’t know what to do with” along with cas and crowley. they all had good arcs pop up now and then (sam had some fun stuff going on with lucifer in s11 and s13) but most of the time the writers either don’t know how to give him a meaningful characterization or don’t care (or both). so we have to do a lot of that work ourselves. 

so, for example, when we talk about sam losing his anger, i like to read it as him OVERCOMING that anger to avoid becoming his father (which may even be where some of the seemingly sympathetic comments come from, because he’s trying to be forgiving instead of angry), but really...it’s that the writers forgot he had anger issues. in-universe explanation vs irl explanation, yk? and i think pretty much all meta about sam in late seasons is written through that lens, whether the writer of that meta knows it or not. including this one! i can’t prove any of this shit, it’s my personal reading, i’m making it up. like there were just SO many different people involved in the production of supernatural that there was a lot of conflict and contradictions in things like continuity and characterization. (most of the writers room hadn’t even seen every episode!) so there’s not one definitive way to go about it. in many ways it makes the characters more nuanced and in many other ways it makes me fucking insane.

as for sam and john and whether or not sam forgives him, i’m actually glad you asked because this has been driving me nuts for a long time and it took me SO LONG to pin it down - sam’s relationship with john is very different to dean’s, and i couldn’t figure out WHY. it’s not that he was “abused less,” it’s not that he loved john less or was less hurt by his actions, so why doesn’t he seem as INVESTED in everything that happened to them as kids? like he says in season 14 he had to learn to let it go and that it was all a lifetime ago for him. meanwhile i think dean still deals with it every day. he’s still stewing in it to some degree 24/7. so like what’s the difference??

i think it comes down to two things. firstly, that while dean didn’t have anybody parenting him except john (and mary, but only for a very short time that he could actually remember), SAM’S parents were john AND DEAN. most of the time dean was the one raising sam, and in fact he arguably did way more parenting of sam than john did. so the person that made dean feel safe and like he could fight back against monsters, the person he was grateful to, was john. but the person who made SAM feel safest was dean. he doesn’t have that same gratitude towards john that dean does and he never will, because of how john made him feel alienated and excluded from their family growing up. dean’s resentment of john is so tangled up in this very deep and unconditional love and gratitude for him that sam just doesn’t have. 

secondly, i think dean has a serious case of “i can fix him” re: john that sam doesn’t have and possibly never had. john just never showed sam the same kind of inclusion and warmth and trust that he showed dean (however rarely he showed it, and however fucked up it was). i think sam figured out very very early on that their quest for yellow eyes was either a long shot or straight up impossible, and that they couldn’t waste their entire lives doing it, and that even if the demon died, john was never going to change. dean 100% drank the koolaid - he really truly believed in a world where someday they’d kill the demon and all retire from the life and be normal and be a family again, because that’s what john said and dean took his father’s word as gospel. sam knew better.

so i think what sam did was just disengage. partially because he felt he couldn’t afford to nurse that kind of anger and not become either his father or lucifer, and partially because even though sam loved john, still loves john, he never needed him the way dean did, because sam had dean. so it doesn’t hurt him as much to just “gray rock” it. i think if sam stopped and really dug into it he’d find that he’s still quite angry (probably more angry on dean’s behalf than his own, at least at first, because in his mind he was able to move past it and dean was not, dean had it worse, HIS OWN trauma isn’t real etc etc), but he doesn’t do that because he doesn’t want to be that angry, and possibly even thinks that if he brought it up dean would jump to john’s defense and it would cause a fight, which the opposite of what a gray rock does.

as for being forced to forgive john because if he didn’t he would also have to condemn dean...i don’t think i buy that at all. sam is fine making dean his exception and he allows dean to get away with a lot of deeply horrible shit he would condemn other people for. partially because he’s dean and sam loves him, but in my ~personal reading~ of sam, this is also because once sam became an adult the weight of everything dean did and had to give up to raise him really sank in, and part of him felt guilty (even though sam arguably didn’t have a childhood either). you know how kids take care of their parents in old age to repay them for raising them? that’s sort of how sam is with dean in later seasons - he implies multiple times that he would leave the hunting life forever and not look back if it weren’t for dean.

and as a side note - sorry, this is only tangentially related - dean implies several times in later seasons that the job is where he finds his sense of accomplishment and self-esteem and meaning - he believes the world is a better place because of what he and sam do, and even though he doesn’t always like DOING the job, he likes the outcome. it’s weird because this is as close as we see dean get to even HAVING self esteem. sam, emotionally intelligent, would have picked up on that - and since he and dean have both tried to leave the life multiple times and have always come to regret it, i also think part of sam believes you CAN’T escape - certainly SAM could never escape so long as dean was still in it, because whether he meant to or not dean would always pull him back in. and part of dean doesn’t really want to escape because he’s made his peace with it. so sam stays, and i think even if he can’t find the same meaning in the job that dean does, he finds a lot of meaning in being there for dean. (this, like gray rocking, is also consistent with the seasons where sam’s sole character trait is caring about dean lol. but i’m happy enough to read it in a kinder and less bitter/resentful way.)

it IS worth noting i think that the most forgiving sam ever was about john was in the adam episode, where he said he understood why he was the way he was and why he did what he did, and when dean said they were alike sam decided to take it as a compliment. sam in season 4 is arguably at one of his lowest points - struggling with addiction, consumed by anger and hatred and the need for revenge. he WAS like john in many ways, and i think he justified what john was doing because it also justified what HE was doing. but what he was doing led to breaking lucifer out of hell and the apocalypse that followed, which is why i like to think sam worked so hard to reign in his anger afterward - both to avoid his fate and avoid becoming his father.

in short: i don’t think sam has actually forgiven john so much as disengaged from him and moved past it. because if he DID engage with it, it’d bring up a whole lot of stuff he didn’t feel prepared to deal with. one of the risks of gray rocking things is doing it to the point that you lose touch with your own wants and needs and personality, so i think by late seasons sam’s repression, which is much more sneaky and quiet than dean’s, has settled in to the point where he’s like “yeah whatever” about dad out of sheer self preservation - because otherwise, he’d end up going crazy about it like dean does. i think it’d do him a hell of a lot of good to be able to get to shout at john and finally say his piece/ he’s really afraid of his own anger, but i think it’d be healthy for him to get back in touch with some of it.

[spn masterpost]

[herstarburststories]

(He Isn't) A Good Guy

Kinktober day 15: humiliation kink

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen is tired of everyone saying he's a good guy.

Warnings: dirty talk (kind dark bc of the kink), handjob, p in v, riding, cheating, possessive, slapping

You have to be careful with what you're good at. You might just end up doing it for the rest of your life.

Jensen Ackles never caught the appeal of that saying. If you were really that good at something, why wouldn't you want to do it?

Such a mindset was as constant as a mother’s love and made Jensen's loyal company for a long time during his career. He pictured it would last forever: the head pats, positive criticism, and his charm that caught more and more fans. The Hollywood man was happy, really. He grew to be a good — if not great — actor. He had a wife and three kids that were the love of his life. He could go anywhere and find a job through the instantaneous recognition that Supernatural bestowed upon him, not to mention its gift of a best friend, Jared, and the raw amount of personal growth he went through. 

He was perfect in the most diversified aspects of his life, and, God, it was boring as fuck.

Whatever Jensen did, he was excused for it. Plenty of people would light themselves on fire for him (and hey, don’t think he was ungrateful for that), but being called a good guy that apparently couldn’t do any wrongs while the rights came out even in his sleep could be devastatingly annoying.

He thought he might have some problem, perhaps even a middle-aged crisis. Come on, who, with his life, would feel compelled to look for something else? Ackles had the money, the friends, and family. He had everything everyone dreamed about, but he just wanted to wake up.

Then, he met you.

You were the woman in her twenties who was barely starting in the media business, yet you had enough luck and talent to evoke the CW's attention that early. They wouldn't hire you as an official director, but you were in the training process. You were a prodigy, as most people on the set liked to joke about.

You sighed, slightly frustrated about the direction these takes were going. Asking Ackles to follow orders was roughly the same as punching a wall; the brick didn't break, and it only left you with scuffed knuckles and growing irritation. “Jensen, you need to tilt your head to the side or we won't be able to catch her face on camera.” 

“I'm doing that,” he said as if it was obvious.

“The camera doesn't agree with you.” You crossed your arms, tired of having this heated squabble again.

“I know how to shoot sex scenes, Y/N. I've been doing that for—”

You interrupted him: “I'm aware of how long the show I'm working on has been going, Jensen. Now, take my hint and do as I say. I get that you have done this before, but we are trying a new position, so your M.O. might not work.” You knew he was a good actor. Supernatural wouldn't be what it was if it wasn't for his character. Still, you needed this episode to be perfect in terms of filming. It was your first actual chance to prove how worthy you were. Jensen had his career and little apple pie life settled, but you had to scratch and squirm to insert yourself into the industry. You knew what you were doing. Nonetheless, you attempted to pacify his self-assurance by being assertive and gentle at the same time: “Just listen to me and try it. Please.”

The green-eyed man opened his mouth, very much ready to spit out a contradicting retort, but at the last second, he clamped his jaw shut and opted for a smirk instead. “Yeah, boss.”

It was the first time in years that someone actually came at him. Jensen felt the bruise aching his ego that spiked a sudden pressing need to puff out his chest and say I know what I am doing. Why don't you watch? 

He'd call that the Texan man behavior, alpha macho testosterone levels on high, but, honestly, he was just mad that someone had the audacity to talk to him like that, as if he was a rookie on his job. Jensen's whole body heated up, his jaw clenched, and his breath caught on his throat when he glanced at you — of course, he'd never put a hand on a woman, but God, that was infuriating. He wasn't a middle school child in need of a lecture.

But this was his first impression. As you gave everyone fifteen minutes to relax before shooting again, he went to his trailer, gait unnecessarily heavy like a child throwing a tantrum. Jensen locked his trailer and closed his eyes, trying to pick out his emotions — how long have it been since he got mad? That couldn't be healthy.

Do as I say. Your words were echoes in his head, spinning and making him dizzy. Just listen to me.

And the look you gave him. It wasn’t adoration as a fan or nervousness like a new worker. You didn’t excuse him as anyone else did. You glanced at him as you would to any other person on the set that had made a mistake: you pointed it out and didn't offer any sugarcoating to dull the blow.

It felt refreshing.

Shaking your head at the scene unrolling on the other side of the camera, you let out an exhausted sigh. This was your second directed episode, and Jensen wasn't making it easy for you. He always seemed like such a nice guy, yet you weren't surprised by his mulish behavior. You had called him out, and now he was turning it back around on you. Celebrities were complicated on their one, but male ones even more. Their egos required a role for themselves.

“Everyone, ten minutes!” you announced, placing the headphones on the table next to you. Your crew started dispersing, Ackles included, when his name left your lips: “Jensen, c'here.”

The green-eyed man arched his eyebrows, not sure why you wanted to talk to him so privately. Still, he approached you.

When you were a kid, you went through a phase when your smile wasn’t very pretty. It was too much teeth, eyes too tight, and head lifted high enough to show under your chin. Your parents couldn't just up and tell you that it looked terrible, obviously, so they just showed you multiple pictures until you decided that you didn't like something about it.

Maybe that would work with Jensen.

You patted the chair next to you, and Jensen sat there with a wisp of hesitation. You clicked on the scene you had been trying to get right for almost an hour. The replay went smoothly, Ackles's shoulders shrugging by the end. He didn't see the fuss about this.

“Seems good,” he said nonchalantly. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Someone as talented as him couldn't be serious about not seeing a problem with how ridiculous his vampire transformation through the last season was. “Seems like a sitcom”

“It's a dumb scene.” Jensen shrugged.

You groaned. “Can't you just accept that you can do better?”

Jensen crossed his arms and straightened his posture, holding a defensive atmosphere around him. God, he was infuriating sometimes. “Maybe you can. I've been doing great for years. You might not be the right director for this kind of show.”

“Just do as I said. You're in the scene, but I'm the audience. I can see right through you. I'm seeing things from another perspective and trying to tell you how to improve. That's what a director is for. Go ahead and try it!”

Your friendly conversation with the lead apparently had the opposite effect. As soon as he went back to his place in front of the camera, Jensen Ackles appeared to acquire the stubborn, incredibly unprofessional desire to take on all the worst camera angles only to get on your nerves.

“Are you kidding me!?” You elevated your voice, furious at how careless he was. All your patience has been zapped. “You're doing it on purpose. How can you be so petty?”

“Me? Petty!?” he said between gritted teeth, almost hissing as he walked to you. “I've been playing Dean for years. I know him more than—”

“I know. You do a big job with that character, but Jensen, you make mistakes. It's part of the process. You're a grown-ass man, so you can take what I'm saying and make something useful out of it. I'm the director; you are the actor. I don't care about how long you’ve been on this stage, and I don’t care for incompetence. You ain't doing good, so do as I say and fix it.”

Jensen tensed up when you said that, exhaling shortly while his eyes glued on you. You were half his age, yet the way you presented yourself — arms stiffly crossed, eyes ablaze and chin lifted — spoke of your power on this film set. At the end of the day, he was just a man, and he was in your court. Just like that, you held all control. He bit his bottom lip, neck red with the heat of anger and adrenaline that lashed through his body.

He was furious, yet all his body could do was react as if you had kissed him instead of punching his ego.

Anger and luxury both came from the same place. They were just different branches on the same tree growing from a common seed.

The half of Supernatural's leader actor started doing it on purpose, then. Not acting in a way that could collide with his career or mess up the shooting schedule, but an occasional bitched scene here and there when he had a chance, and always when you were in charge of the scene.

He relished in it: someone treating him like a man and not an untouchable idol. A woman who would look straight in his eyes and not be too intimidated, excited, or lovey-dovey to tell him all the bad things he needed to hear. You were someone who could put him in his place.

Unfortunately, playing around can only get you so far. If you bring someone to the pool, they won't be satisfied with just one foot in the water. They'd want to swim, splash water at their friends to get them all wet and soaked too. 

What started with provocative, fuming rage and nuisance soon melted into something deadlier. It was something unmanageable, a burning fire that attracted all the wrong kinds of glances. Yet, neither of you could help but follow where the smoke signal led.

You were here, in each other's arms. It was a dirty little secret that went way beyond just an illicit affair: it was about what you two could give to each other without even asking, and what other people could never quite comprehend. . . And they didn't need to. Jensen had you, and you had Jensen. To desire and savor the result was enough.

Your hand was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down in a painfully slow rhythm. You had two legs wrapped around his, your face hanging next to Jensen's — close enough that you could kiss all of his freckles if this were out of love and not necessity — as you spoke.

“Everybody thinks you are the good guy. Little mister perfect.” Ackles groaned at the malice in your tone. He hated that — how everyone called him perfect, how every single person told him he was such a good guy. You were his only grounding force under the blinding lights. “But I know you aren't. You are nasty, disgusting, and so needy for someone to put you in your fucking place.”

The male's lips parted slightly, a pornographic moan leaving his body. This perversion felt like a hair short of sin. Who in their right mind would be so turned on by a girl half his age picking up all the worst things one could say about him, only to throw them exactly where it hurt the most?

Why, in the name of God, did he want more? Why was Jensen bucking his lips, needy noises that he never dons escaping his trembling body? Why was his cock hard as fuck, ruinining your fingers with sloppy precum while he internally begged you for more? 

It was like receiving a miracle and giving it to the devil.

“Look at you,” you continued, a smirk painted on your features, “getting fucked in your trailer by the woman who basically told you to stop whining and get your job done like a real man.” You loved being in control of the usually overconfident Hollywood star. If only his dearest fans knew how much of a submissive he was — how he just needed to be told where he belonged. 

“Y/N…” Jensen managed to say, his chest moving erratically fast. You leaned in to press your lips to his, and he whimpered. Ackles' hand slid to your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, but all he got was a slap on the arm and lack of friction on his dick. “Y/N!”

“I didn't say you could touch me, stubborn idiot.” You hissed, getting up to throw away your skirt and underwear. Jensen sniffed, feeling so ridiculous about himself. You had way too much control over him, but he couldn't really care about anything other than you touching his cock right now. Fuck composure or else. “I'm not your wife. I'm not one of your thirsty fans.” Each word came out in a harsh tone, those syllabus together had no other duty but hurt him, and he loved how they agonized in his body, redirected right to his hardness. You got free of the skirt and your soaked lace panties. “I don't need you. This?” You gestured at yourself and Ackles, a wry laughter coming out as you climbed on his lap. “I'm doing you a favor. So, you better thank me and take whatever I choose to give you. Understood?” Jensen's eyes were obsessed with your image, not leaving your face once— not even to look at his hard cock that was so close to your cunt due the new position. He just nodded, wishing that was enough to show you his piece of mind. It wasn't. You slapped his cheek and howled. “I made you a question.”

Jensen gulped, the red on his cheek from your smack couldn't compare to his blushed body. This felt so good, finally getting what he wanted. Ultimately, he blurted out: “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Now let's put you to good use.” You winked at him, a hint of silly playfulness before you got all his length inside you at once. Both of you moaned, the unique sensation of your walls around his hard dick was marvelous. So warm, tight, and wet. Everything he deserved in one pussy, one woman. You started to move your hips up and down. “You feel so good inside me, baby. Like your cock was made for me— I think you were made just for this, to be fucked by me. What do you think?” His eyes fluttered shut, Jensen was allowing himself to get lost into you. You were heaven in sin, fucking him so nice. You weren't having his silent, though. You both had to be quiet about many things regarding to your mutual arrangement, you couldn't get more of closed mouths. Not when this was happening. You grabbed Jensen's jaw, fingertips pressing against his skin. “You better start answering me before I get out of here and go get some with a real man.”

Jensen groaned, holding your hips possessively. You knew he was one of the jealous kind, talking about other men touching you always got a reaction out of him. “I'm a real man.” 

“Show me then, baby.” A glimpse of sweetness appeared as you leaned in to kiss his lips. It didn't last much before your lips went to his neck, words coming through an open-mouthed there. “You know, they all are so caught up in your act, Jensen. The perfect texan boy, the amazing husband, the unproblematic idol…” You chortled, sending goosebumps through his whole soul. His dick was deep into you as you were riding his restlessly. “I bet you get tired of this. I bet you just want to fuck me in front of everyone sometimes, just to show them how dirty you can be.” He nodded, a soft whine leaving his lips. He was so tired of being the good guy. Only you knew him. “Like right now. You spent the whole day messing up with me, teasing me, just so you could get punished. And here we are, fucking in your trailer, while everyone is getting ready to go home.” He tried to move his hips as well, to get more of you. When you didn't stop him, Ackles winced and bucked his hips, hitting your G-spot, going deep and raw inside your tight cunt. One of his hands went to your pussy, digits pressing to your clit. Your next words came during groans of pleasure. “You should go too, baby. But you can't help it, huh? You just want go fuck me, even though I don't even care enough to send you a message to make sure you got home safe. You like it. You love that I'm not crazy about you, that I don't care.” His heart ached, but his cock only grew harder. Jensen could feel he was on the edgy. “So, you stay here instead of going home to your sweet wife. You stay here instead of hanging out with your best friend. You stay here instead of looking through your social media just to get an ego boost. Is this what a good man would do, Jensen? No... But that's okay. Men like you just need to be put in their places, and you love it.”

“Y/N!” He screamed helplessly, pulling your body closer to him when he came inside you, marking your pussy as his. A treacherous, lust stained thought was placed on his shoulders, whispering lovingly to his ear like you did your swearing: breed her, get her pregnant with your baby. Make her yours.

You had broken him, and he loved every second of it. He couldn't wait to give you the shattered pieces as a gift.

You came with an excruciating grunt right after him, all over his cock. The feeling of Jensen coming inside you always pushed you right way. You sighed happily, resting your head on his chest.

He enjoyed moments like this.

You remained there, waiting for his cock to relax inside you, get less hard before you pulled you. When it did, you pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone, walking to grab your clothes.

“Jensen,” You coughed after putting on your skirt. “I'll send you the new script tonight. Send me an email to confirm that you got it.”

What you truly wanted to say was, tell me if you got home safe. But you couldn't.

“Sure.” Jensen answered with a nod. Once again, he also wanted to say something else: thank you for giving me what I need, for seeing me. I love you. But he couldn't.

You picked up your wet panties, throwing it at him with a teasing smile before leaving the trailer.

It was enough.

Leave a comment and REBLOG. Feedback is magic! Taglist on my reblogs— send me an ask or dm if you wish to be tagged! You can add yourself to my taglists through my bio's link as well.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 5

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This chapter in particular is dedicated to @foxyjwls007 . If I'm going to torture you with something, it's not going to be a cliffhanger. I'm going out of town for two weeks, so you get an update early since I won't be able to post while I'm away. Thank you for the encouragement.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 5

“Miss? Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

A hand grips Andy’s arm, firm but polite, and she jerks to, almost losing her footing. It’s been a long day already, and she still has two hours before she can go home, shower, and put her feet up for a little while before karaoke at the Brass Monkey starts up.

Maybe I can even fit in a nap, she thinks excitedly. But first, gotta wake up and make it through the rest of my shift.

Of course, if she hadn’t been tossing and turning all night from a crazy dream, she wouldn’t be as tired as she is now, but that’s neither here nor there. And it doesn’t help that she can’t even remember the stupid dream. It was really long, though, and there was blood and books and…someone...

“Can I get a refill over here?”

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go. She can do this.

The minutes crawl, though, and it’s all she can do to stay on her feet and focus. The lunch crowd has long since thinned, and she’s about to ask if she can maybe take off a little early when the door chimes, and she catches the tail end of the entering customers’ conversation.

“Could you at least consider putting something green on your plate? Like, ever? Broccoli won’t kill you.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m getting breakfast since you didn’t wake me up early enough to eat a decent one this morning. Pancakes, bacon, and coffee, which, I might add, grows on a tree, so it counts as a plant. That’s balanced enough for me. You like broccoli; knock yourself out, Jolly Green.”

“Sam isn’t green, Dean. Is your vision faulty? Perhaps we should get your eyes examined. Or you could try carrots along with the broccoli. Carrots are supposed to improve vision.”

No. No, no, no, she thinks, her mind whirling frantically. It was a dream, they can’t be here. This is...this is how it started, and...

She turns, and there they are, Sam and Dean dolled up in their clean, pressed feds suits and Cas looking just as rumpled and bewildered as she suddenly remembers. They seat themselves at an empty table in her section, but any thoughts of leaving early evaporated the second she heard their voices.

Every moment of the dream, every minute of those four weeks comes screaming back, cramming each terror-laden, tension-ridden second into her mind so fast she actually does stumble and has to grab the back of a nearby booth to keep from hitting the worn-out linoleum.

“It...hasn’t happened yet.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Hey, hey, hold on there. Are you okay?”

Then Sam’s hand is supporting her elbow, helping her straighten up, and she looks up into his concerned eyes, unable to express how glad she is just to see him breathing. Behind him, Dean and Cas are arguing about something trivial, wonderfully animated and alive and completely unaware of her.

“I’m sorry, hun, it’s just been a long shift. Gimme a minute to grab some waters and menus, and I’ll be right over.” Sam accepts her flimsy excuse at face value, and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lived with her for the better part of a month, hasn’t saved her life once, hasn’t tried to save the world with her. He doesn’t know her at all.

Why should he question a strange waitress in a strange diner who says she’s had a long day? He’s met hundreds of women just like her, maybe thousands, and he’s got no reason to question a completely legitimate statement.

She rushes into the back to find the coldest water possible to splash on her face. Her reflection gapes back at her from the staff bathroom mirror as the enormity of her situation begins to dawn on her.

Why? Why is this happening? Either she actually lived through those weeks and is somehow getting a do-over, or she dreamed the whole thing and is getting a shot to fix things from this end. But why? And how?

How in the hell?

Think, Andrea, think. It was real. It will be real. It hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t screwed everything up yet. You have to fix this. But how? How can I fix it when I screwed everything up so very badly last time?

Just...think. Think. Start small. Try to stop it before it happens. But...the cult. Crowley said they were real. They found me before, they’ll find me again. I could talk to Sam and Dean and Cas about what's going to happen. They’ve been through enough insanity in their lives that I actually have a pretty good shot at convincing them.

She stares into the mirror, racking her brain for every helpful detail she learned during her time with the Winchesters.

They're already investigating all the break-ins hereabouts; those were the cultists looking for me in the first place. Then they find me, take me, bleed me, and start the apocalypse. The boys could stop the ritual before it even happens.

Her reflection in the mirror frowns, unconvinced the solution could possibly be that easy.

But the literature, the books, it’s all still out there. Someone else could find it, could come after me. My blood is the problem. I’m the key. As long as I’m around, someone could still use me to end everything. Crowley can still use me to get to them. Think. You’ve got to actually stop everything and save them this time.

Her eyes widen as realization dawns. The world can’t make it without the Winchesters. There’s only one way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, she sets a fresh green salad in front of Sam before dropping a towering stack of steaming pancakes in front of Dean.

“Fresh pot of coffee coming off in two, be right back with your refills. Need any more butter or syrup, hun? How ‘bout a couple of extra pieces of bacon on the house?”

“Don’t encourage him, please,” Sam groans. Dean slaps his brother on the back of the head, sending Sam’s coiffed hair into a tizzy of disarray. Sam swipes back at his brother, who waves off Sam’s attempts at retaliation like he’s swatting a fly.

“You shut your pie hole. She said free bacon. That makes her a queen.” He turns his most charming smile on her, glancing down at her name tag then back up to meet her gaze squarely. The crinkles around his eyes deepen with his grin. “Andrea, is it?”

“Andy,” she corrects automatically, and she can’t help her answering smile. He throws her a wink that clearly says he knows he’s cheesy but it's all part of his irresistible charm.

She doesn’t disagree.

“You are a goddess, Andy. I love you, and you need to know that.”

“You don’t,” she says, only just managing to keep her voice and smile level, “but you could.” His answering laugh sends a twinge through her chest, and if she clenches her jaw a little around her smile, she figures she’s entitled.

When the men finally finish eating, she offers a slip of paper to Dean, while Sam pretends he isn’t rolling his eyes.

“There’s a karaoke competition at the Brass Monkey tonight. Winner gets tab on the house for a week. Interested in maybe meeting up there around ten or so? We could have a drink, sing a song, and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He grins and takes the slip from her with sure fingers. She’s certain he has her number memorized before the paper even retains his prints, but he makes a special show of tucking it safely into his pocket.

“Dean, do you think it wise to allow yourself to be so distracted when we’re in the middle of an investigation?”

And without even realizing it, Cas gives her the perfect opening.

“Oh, you boys investigating all the break-ins hereabouts? Were they too much for our local boys to handle? Listen, hun, my friend was one of the ladies whose house got broken into. If you want to stick around for a few minutes, I can fill you in on what I know and send you her way. Would that help?”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he is clearly pleased with his first-rate investigating skills. “That would help immensely, Miss Andrea. Thank you.”

She can’t believe her luck at such a perfect lead-in, and she runs with it.

“Now that I think about it, the shop next door mentioned something about their alarm getting tripped a few nights in a row. Maybe I could talk to your friend while you two check it out? And I’ll see you tonight, Dean? Ten o’clock?”

Dean’s grin softens, and she can see the faintest tinge of red along his cheeks. She didn’t notice it the first time around, and now she wishes she’d paid more attention. Then the brothers leave, and she’s alone with the angel. ...

Chapter 6

[missmaxime]

how do you feel about the show making rio so unlikable? is the backstory a fix it?

Let me start of with that I don’t think the show is making Rio more unlikable. I don’t know if you mean that they are visibly showing him committing more violence and crime. But I’m assuming this is an ask in response to the wire-scene from Sunday’s episode.  Watch me under the cut go through the past three seasons and a little some season 4 to tell you how I see Rio’s character progression. I’m not really sure if this is what you’re asking an answer to, but if it’s not tell me! * Rio’s (non) POV * Escalation in violence * Different views on S3 * More into the wire-scene * Prediction for 4x06 / Backstory

Rio has always been shown to be a ruthless and violent criminal. In the beginning of S1 he had no problem murdering the girls, and has made death threats ever since. He shot Dean, killed Eddie, had Turner assassinated and murdered Lucy in front of the girls. I don’t know how people can see him any other way, it’s not something that was ever hidden by the show. He’ll go through every length to protect himself and his business.  We know Beth has been a soft spot for him since Season 1 too. In the beginning because it was a fun and interesting business opportunity, but we’ve seen their relationship develop for better and worse across seasons. I think we have to keep in mind that Rio is a character we’ve seen almost exclusively through POV that aren’t his own, and mostly through Beth’s. And we as viewers see a limited amount of information about him, that we translate in our own ways. I’ve seen people interpreted the 2x01 scene where Rio shows Marcus to Beth through such rose-colored glasses for example. I can see how a viewer, and Beth, could see it as a scene that would frame him as more likeable. But I also see how that was exactly Rio’s point; He wanted Beth to see that it’s not just her who has kids on the line with her crime-life, as a way to invalidate her constant argument of ‘being a mom’ and ‘having a family’ as if that would make her special or something. She’s a drug dealer and counterfeiter like him, not a criminal with a heart of gold because they happen to have a child. Season 2 really started unpacking Rio’s character more. In Season 1, if the whole Rio/Beth – CH/MM chemistry hadn’t existed, I could definitely see the character of Rio being done late Season 1/early Season 2. But that’s not what happened, so now Rio had to become a person with connections and feelings and deeper motivations – but it’s still a character that’s in the base there to drive Beth forward as a character and deeper into crime. Which is a tricky balance, and I don’t think the show always made that work. Obviously the most clear example of that is the loft scene in 2x13. Now there’s more than one thing to be said about that scene, but I’m focusing now Rio himself. It’s the big finale, a lot of things needed to come together here and explode. Overall I don’t think the build-up was executed well, but it doesn’t help that we have no Rio POV here. His decision to kidnap Beth, confront her with her lack of taking responsibility and lying about her rotten eggs, and his complete oversight of her response to being pinned his fall guy really dropped out of – maybe not completely thin, but at least barely medium thick – air for me. Concerning the racial element I think THIS POST by @septiembrre explains this much better than white, non-American me ever will.  Regardless of the fact if the racial element of 2x13 affects a viewer, this poorly executed finale left lots of people unsatisfied at best. When Season 3 started we did start to see more Rio POV, or parts of his story told through Rhea, even though it was limited. I know there’s a lot of critique on the S3 we got, that I personally don’t understand – I loved it, it was so amazingly angsty, especially the Beth and Rio interactions were so loaded and simmering with guilt and anger and sadness and desperation – but if you’re searching for catharsis in a way of Rio coming back with a vengeance with guns ablaze, then that’s really not what you got. What Season 3 did do was putting the violence and cruelty Rio is capable of more on the forefront, and making us feel the weight of it more (I don’t know about the rest of you, but in the previous seasons I felt they really underplayed a lot of it). Rio had competing gangs taken out through Turner, has Turner assassinated along with a lot of other FBI agents, he fully intended on killing Beth before the pregnancy lie, kills innocent Lucy through Mick and disposes her body gruesomely, has the girls deliver Boomer with all intention of harming him (if not murder) and full on frames Beth for Lucy’s murder with her prints on the gun. I don’t think these kind of actions weren’t going on in the previous seasons, but now it’s more on display because Rio made Beth a part of this side of crime (and with that, us the viewers). In the beginning of Season 4 I feel like we’re making a bit of a jump when it comes to Beth and Rio’s relationship, maybe one that’s a little too big compared to the distance we ended on in Season 3 (even if they seemed friendly in their last Boland Bubbles scene). Lucy’s body is found and we learn that said gun was also used to taking out some gang member of an opposing gang of Rio’s, so after Turner’s sweep he apparently wasn’t done. That gun now becomes a much bigger thing to hold over Beth (and I’m speculating because we don’t know for sure, but we can guess that now Annie’s prints are on it – which is an ever bigger press on Beth because she won’t let her little sister take the fall, while she would do so herself. And I think she’s up for a rude awakening that while she’s under the impression that Rio has always employed the three of them, what was actually going on is that Rio employs Beth, and he sees Annie and Ruby as Beth’s employees and thereby offers them zero protection). So her counter with his print doesn’t come a moment too soon. I feel like Beth asking him to murder ‘Dave’, albeit with a lie about his identity and not as straightforward as Rio might wish, is a positive shift for him. She might not pick up a gun herself to do the deed, but much like Rio has Mick shoot Lucy, she very deliberately gives a killing order through him. And with a very drama heaux set-up we see him personally – and he has no reason to not have Mick do it – shoot Fitzpatrick. Aside from the fact that I have no doubt Rio may not have knew the specifics but he knew Beth had something orchestrated, the fact that some sniper dude was the target has it really drive home to him that it’s something else than Secret Service, and that they are still active around Beth. So we’re finally here, 4x05 The Banker – which I’m gonna guess was the reason you send this ask in the first place. In particular the wire-scene. In the first scene we learn that Rio has found the tracker on his car, and he turns it off or breaks it – so he knows he’s still being watched. It makes the most sense that even if he takes the leap that he put down a Secret Service agent, that they just replaced them and Beth is likely still working for them. He meets her in her kitchen – which isn’t that common at this point, last we know he was there is after the failed hit on him. And she doesn’t even jump when she sees him, just accepts it. He motions for her to be quiet before slowly stepping into her space, and she very logically responds with a ‘what are you doing?’, and he stares back long and hard to say that he means business. He has all the reason to suspect her wearing a wire, even if this wasn’t a planned meeting, and it wouldn’t be the first time she lied to his face. It’s clear to me (but I’ve seen this interpreted differently) that Beth fast finds a solid stance in this powerplay. Rio doesn’t seem happy about the fact it has come to this, and neither does she. I’m not sure if you send me this ask because you have negative feelings about this scene, but I can tell you I can’t answer those. This scenario could have been portrayed so wrong with any other actors or the way they shot it, but I feel like they delivered superbly on it. It’s in no way sexual or intimidating like I’ve seen some posts suggest, I just see two brokenhearted people who see the little trust they rebuilt fall apart in in thirty seconds. At the end Beth ends up winning, a bitter win maybe, this confrontation. Rio’s obviously still suspicion, but she also gained some trust with her asking him to kill ‘Dave’, so setting her up as The Banker is some sort of twisted reward and punishment and test at the same time. It’s not explained, but I think ‘The Banker’ might have been a hidden figure before Beth stepped up to show her face (before her flunky’s came to collect in name of The Banker) – making this an even better set-up if it’s so because that takes Rio out of the equation altogether even. We end the episode on the note where Rio tells Beth he has people he answers to, and that they want to meet her. Which, again, sound like both a reward and a punishment and a test. We’ll have to see next Sunday what it really means. IN this episode we’ll meet some of Rio’s family, likely his boss(es) and get backstory on him. I don’t see that as a fix-it, but mostly because I don’t see anything needed of fixing. I’m glad we’re getting an insight into Rio’s past, and I love that it likely will broaden his backstory and motivations more. But I feel like the way Rio’s character and the amount and the way of it seems very fitting to the story and the perspective it’s told through. I’m not sure if this is an answer to your question, so feel free to send me a more specific one if you want to!

[brainrotmeta]

re: "Dean Winchester and the study of death in ‘Supernatural’ season 13"

link

Misha Collins as Castiel in particular has been paraded around as an equal third alongside Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki in all the PR leading up to season 13.

this was the season Misha was demoted. I mean maybe the promo was true. I stopped watching SPN early season 12 (worst season ever? Yes!!!!) and caught up again after the finale. I think it's funny if they did all this promo for Collins while cutting his pay check and this is how fans describe it.

What’s the goal, if the tension for the fans isn’t actually about their investment in that character’s return? What is Supernatural trying to prove?

J2 need more timeoff and Misha is cheap. That was mean.

Dean’s most recent death isn’t quite a suicide in the traditional sense – it’s more like recklessly playing fast and loose on a day trip away from life with no guaranteed return ticket – but given that his actions are absolutely due to the culmination of his depression? From that angle, it also kind of is.

Not really. Depressed and reckless Dean is something that we've been seeing since season 2 and especially season 3. It's just that it's usually Sam that's the one dealing with it, and destiel shippers tend to be allergic to Sam because he's the floozy that gets in the way of Destiel.

What leads him to this point is the deepest and most well-sustained arc that Supernatural has ever offered about grief,

Season two is 22 episodes about grief.

I’m trying to recall a moment in Supernatural where we’ve actually seen such a truthful and prolonged aftermath to such a significant loss.

are you out of your fucking mind? S E A S O N T W O. Dean's recklessness! Sam's sudden turn around re: hunting? Sam's profound grief that he never got to say goodbye. Dean's guilt and horror at John's sacrifice and rage at the save him or kill him command. A plot summary of season two goes into Yellow Eyes and Sam's powers - but SPN season two is about what it feels like to survive the death of a loved one.

Yes, Sam and Dean have both canonically lived for months or years grieving the other, but that’s not a process we ever got to witness onscreen.

Don't Destiel shippers love season eight? Every single flashback with Sam and Amelia is about, among other things, Sam's profound grief over the loss of Dean. Dean's suicidal ideation is what leads Sam to take on the trails. Dean's anger and attacks on Sam lead to Sam's suicidal ideation. All of this is tied into how much they need each other and how much they fear losing each other.

[About season 7/the loss of Cas/Bobby/Sam's mental state]: That period was maybe the darkest emotional state, the steepest descent into unhealthy despair, that we ever saw from Dean before now

I don't like to think about the Mark of Cain, but.... I'm pretty sure Dean was in a darker state after Sam found out about Gadreel. It's also worth nothing that season seven is more concerned with the loss of Bobby than Castiel. His death haunts Dean more than Castiel's. There's, like, literal episodes dedicated to it.

This isn’t the loss of John, where his death both devastates Dean and removes a massive burden from his shoulders,

asdoirf3waodjfhsesodfs you owiafdjd tahuewi8fjd THAT'S THE OPPOISTE THING THAT HAPPENED. JOHN'S DEATH PUT MORE ON DEAN'S SHOULDERS THAN EVER BEFORE HOWWWWWWW

so what we end up with is a Dean with no belief that there’s any way to overcome this tragedy, and a Sam with a potentially delusional level of optimism.

what do i have to do in order to get Destiellers to leave Sam out of their silly analysis? Sam's hope was not delusional you asshat. He knows Lucifer, he knows there's a good chance he wouldn't kill Mary (not that that brings him much comfort). Dean mocking his hope in therapy was Dean lashing out, not an objective meter of reality.

He’s not dismissive, and he’s not unaffected, but he’s proactive, because Sam believes in miracles. More than that: he believes he deserves miracles.

what are you on. Sam knows that Jack can use his magical angel powers to cut through dimensions (because he already has) and that's PART of the reason he nurtured the kid. This isn't him hoping for a miracle. It's a potential solution to a problem. And, hey, Sam finds out he likes being a dad.

His bar for an ideal future is set much, much higher than Dean’s, because he truly believes that they can have, and that they deserve, more.

I mean he does. No one deserves Sam or Dean's life. But........,,., not really? An accurate read in Sam's ability to think he deserves anything good.

[on bad day at black rock] That episode always stands out to me as such a uniquely perfect portrayal of character because if that had happened to Dean, he would have been mostly fine.

I'm going to give season fifteen one (1) right for showcasing that's not true. Dean's heartburn, man. He hates it yessssss.

You know why? Because Dean expects the worst, he takes the hits as they come, he juggles problems and pleasures, drops balls and picks up new ones, never expects to keep them all in the air at the same time.

lest it be his Sammy. Then he needs to make deals with reapers and death to Fix That Right Now.

but I do know that the day Sam breaks, that he truly accepts that he is broken, that he is not going to get out of this with the solution he believes he’s owed, there will be a reckoning.

so I assume you watched the episode where Cas came back in season 7? That's a good time of Sam hitting rock bottom. He's exhausted and ready to die (though, of course, he uses what little strength he has to help a girl being haunted by her brother's ghost). Rock bottom of Sam in season 4 and 8 amounted to sacrificing himself. Look, Sam's dangerous. But I don't think he's overall more dangerous than Dean.

but the girl he was planning to spend the rest of his life with was killed not only in front of him but also because of him.

that's kind of victim blamey. I think we can blame Yellow Eyes and Lucifer. She's talking about rock bottom Sam in season one. Sam's a little cranky and fights with his family some. Very scary. Word will end.

The universe owes him, big time, and he knows it.

the fuck are you talking about. Sam doesn't think anyone owes him anything. Beyond, like, maybe not having literal god toy with is life for the lulz.

but Sam actually expects the universe to pay up, and pursues every opportunity that arises in order to fast-track that debt collection – it’s why he went along with the British Men of Letters, after all, it’s why he did the Demon Trials.

Sam takes the trails to make things better for Dean. He goes along with the BMoL because getting rid of all the monsters that eat people would make the world safer what you on natalie fisher.

And it’s why, within minutes of polite conversation, he’s testing the waters for Jack to help him out, open the portal to the other world in order to save Mary. .

Sam literally told Jack that if the kid couldn't help it didn't matter. The second he saw that Jack was being pushed too far, he pulled back. how are you dissing Sam when DEAN LITERALLY TOLD A CHILD OF ONE DAY OLD HE'D BE THE ONE TO KILL HIM WHAT ARE YOU ON.

asdfpaoiwe9rfaoidwaed this ladddddy

i'll be back with more of her nonsense i need to flush my brain

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Sexual Thoughts, Sexual Tension (!), A Break In The Case 

Chapter 3.

The slam on the door jolts you awake first thing in the morning.

With a whine, you hold your head before looking at Dean who's curled around you like a snake as he continues to sleep.

"Hey!" Sam yells through the door.

You hear the small tinkering in the lock before the door comes opening up with him crouched down right before it. He gives a nervous chuckle as you raise an eyebrow at him.

"Lock picking so early in the morning, Samuel?"

"We got a new body. Prostitute just like our first victim." He says before looking down at Dean as he buries his face into your bare side.

"Me and Dean will go. Let me just get him up." You say before giving his younger brother a weak smile.

Sam shakes his head, a smile widening over his face as he closes the door shut.

You look down to your left as you blink, trying to clear your mind of all the alcohol sluggishness you feel. He looks so peaceful when he's sleeping. No hardened eyes or worry lines on his forehead.

His lips are gently parted, the famous Dean stubble gracing his sleeping face. 

You want to open up the cage that surrounds your heart and that's exactly why you can't. 

You shouldn't want to do anything. And, maybe that's the harsh negativity in your brain but you can't see any other way around it. 

Letting him in would mean you would be vulnerable. Would he be the one to protect you? He would be the one to comfort you? 

He shouldn't have to.

Fuck that destiny stuff. Fuck that soulmate stuff.

But, you're frightened that there will be a time when you need him over anything else.

And it's slowly coming to that time. The time to just let out your demons and accept that you're not safe and sound if it isn't with Dean. 

"Dean?" You whisper softly as you nudge him.

He groans at the call of his name, nudging his hips closer to yours and you can feel his morning erection digging into your thigh as he sniffles gently.

You've felt it before, you've felt his hips snap and jolt against you looking for the heat of your body to get him off in his sleep throughout the years.

You can feel the fresh wave of arousal washing over you like waves. Your vision tunnels as you look down at his briefs.

He must have taken his pants off after you fell asleep.

His thighs are toned and taut as they flex beneath the thin black fabric of his underwear.

Subconsciously, you lick your lips as the outline of his cock protrudes through the fabric. 

You've always heard praise and moans through thin motel walls from the women he's fucked. Always moaning about how big his cock is and how it fills them so full. You always thought it was a show until now. He was packing something serious in those denim jeans of his.

You haven't been fucked in a long time. Too long if you're being honest. 

You can only imagine how his perfect pink lips would feel as they drift down your body. His calloused hands rough and urgent against your warm, soft skin. How his stubble would tickle you and make your skin only that much more sensitive for him.

Your hand cards through his hair and you lose yourself for a second as you watch him.

"Like what you see?" You hear him murmur, his voice laden with sleep.

Your eyes widen, your heart begins to pick up speed at the embarrassment of getting caught. 

Your hands react first, shoving him hard and fast away from you. He rolls off the bed and groans loudly as his body collides with the floor.

"Jesus Christ!" He whines as he sits up.

His eyes snap open, evergreen irises finding yours before he's rubbing the bleariness away with his fists.

"Let me give you a little lesson-," he cringes standing up before walking over to the counter and grabbing water, "if you see a hard cock, you touch it. You don't fling the person into the void." He grumbles before sipping the water.

You narrow your eyes at him, pulling the sheets over your half naked body, "Eat a dick, hot shot." You counter and he just simply smiles at the motel room floor before walking towards the bathroom.

"Relax, Candy girl. I like waking up next to you. Starts my day off right." There was no flirtatious tone to his voice, no wink. Nothing that would signify him trying to get into your pants. It brings a blush to your cheeks and neck. 

You find yourself grimacing as he shuts the door.

Wearily, you get up and grab your clothes before staring at the bathroom door.

Maybe if you crack the cage of your heart open only a little bit, it might suffice. Maybe if you just let him in a little then it would take away your pain.

"We have a new body." You call to him through the bathroom door.

He swings the door wide open as he steps out and you shield your body with your clothes as he leans against the door jamb.

"Let's get ready to gank this bitch then." 

You roll your eyes before shooing him away but you don't miss as his eyes drift over your almost bare legs that your clothes can't seem to cover.

His eyes flicker with mischief before retreating back into the bathroom with a sly smirk on his face.

God, if there was one thing that Dean knew it was that he was way more into you then you were into him.

Opening the passenger door to the Impala, he waits for you to step out of the hotel room. 

It's very rare to see you in a pencil skirt but the times that you do have it on, it's an experience for Dean. 

Your legs look so soft, your toned thighs are hidden and teasing underneath the constraining fabric, nevermind how pert and perky the globes of your ass look. 

He can't help the laugh he gives as you pull down the skirt uncomfortably, trying to make it go past your knees.

Everything you do is so endearing to him.

It's almost incredible to him that you've been the person you are since he met you and growing up he tried to get into people that were so absolutely different from you.

You were sexy and confident, not overly sexual and not flirtatious at all. You were focused and did your job to the best of your ability.

He admired everything about you in your entirety so when we looked for women, he looked for everything opposite of you. No one could ever be you nor would he want them to be.

"I feel so fucking restricted, this is horrible." You complain as you climb into the car.

"You look good." He comments simply.

You watch him walk around the car, his fingers tapping rhythmically against Baby's hood. He fixes his tie and you can feel your palms become sweaty at the sight of him in the rented suit.

You decided that you would start to open your cage, just a bit. Healing starts with you, it wouldn't just get better on its own.

Dean climbs into the car before turning to you. Without a second thought, you fix his tie even better than he could have done minutes earlier.

His breath stutters as you wipe off the shoulders of his suit jacket. Eyes widening a fraction as he looks down at you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He murmurs as he starts the engine.

"Nothing." You reply as his hand purchases behind your chair.

What is it about Dean Winchester reversing a car that's so hot? The way he angles his body towards yours, you can smell all of his scents plus the citrusy bar of soap the motel provides.

He hums to himself as he begins to back up the car. You begin to count the freckles on his face before his eyes snap to yours.

"You are really weird today." He mumbles before pushing your hair off of your shoulder and squeezing it lightly.

"Marsh wouldn't want us to fight. He loved us being together." You say certainly as you look out the window.

Dean stops the car before turning to look at you fully. His eyes were roaming over your face. Your voice seemed peaceful. Were you letting him in again? Were you making the time to open your heart up for him once more?

"Yeah...he did love us being together." He replies as he tilts his head.

You give a small smile towards the window, watching him stare at you through the glass.

"Marsh would be mad at us if he saw how we've been acting." You say as you lower the window.

The man beside you stares ahead as he clears his throat.

You were opening up. He can feel his mood lifting into something on the sweet side of happiness. 

Maybe dreary clouds and terrible fights were on their way out. Maybe, you could start to be his life partner once more.

He smirks to himself as he stops at the light. 

"I'm glad you see it that way. I agree." He whispers before turning up the music.

On the way to the morgue, the car ride is filled with singing and laughs. Something that's been so distant in both of your lives for quite some time.

"Can you not touch that?" Dean asks as you throw your legs up onto the dashboard.

"What's got your panties in a twist, De? I want to listen to Kansas." You whine holding up the cassette. 

His evergreen irises flicker to you as he drives down the highway. You give him a wide smile, showing him your pearly whites and he smirks before grabbing the cassette.

"Fine just don't tell Sam I'm letting you pick the music." He mumbles before blasting the music as he lowers all your windows.

"WOO!" You cheer, the Indiana breeze blowing through your hair as you start to play the air guitar.

You can hear his hearty chuckle beside you as he speeds up the car. 

"You're the only girl I know that is me in the female form!" Dean yells above the music as he turns the car along the highways curves.

"Maybe that's why we make such a great team!" You call back as the melody of voices carries through the air.

"We're the perfect team, Candy girl! All I need is you, me, Sammy and a six pack of El Sol!" He yells as the engine revs loudly.

Sitting in the motel room by his lonesome, Sam taps his cell phone against his temple as he scrolls through his laptop.

What kind of pissed off spirit has the mojo to do this? There's not a single haunting as far as the eye can s-

"Hello Sam." He jumps in his chair before turning to the voice of Cas as he stands before the small kitchenette of the room.

"Hi Cas. Jesus." He mumbles before carding his fingers through his long hair.

Castiel stands quietly as Sam shuts his laptop.

"Uhhh Cas? Did you come for a reason?" The taller man asks as he grabs his cup of coffee.

"Yes." The angel replies and Sam nods slowly before raising his eyebrows.

"Okay. So. Why're you here?" He asks aloud as Cas sits down at the small table.

"We have to make Dean and Y/N fall in love with each other." Sam groans loudly at his words before sipping his coffee.

"Cas, I told you. I've tried but Dean just doesn't want to hear it. He's been hearing it since he was sixteen from our dad." The taller man notifies as he rests his elbow on the table.

"We should tell Y/N." Sam narrows his eyes at the angel before laughing.

"Yeah? Do you think she would take it better than Dean?" 

Cas ponders on the thought for a second before humming uneasily, "No. In fact, I think she might try to hit me for suggesting it and break her own hand in the process." 

Sam gives him a thumbs up before rolling his eyes. 

"They already love each other. They just have to get over the whole initial terror of being actual people with one another." He mumbles as Cas stares at him.

"Yes. But they need to do the act of love for destiny. God sent everyone a direct message, and they are just not heeding it." Sam leans forward at his admission.

"God wants Y/N and Dean together?" Sam asks loudly.

"Oh yes. It's been aware to all angels for quite some time. Right after you went into the cage." 

"Well why didn't you say that before? That's kind of a big deal, Cas!" Narrowing his eyes at the vessel of Lucifer, he stands back up.

"It isn't as big of a deal as it should be, apparently. They aren't even taking this seriously." He deadpans, his voice getting dangerously low.

Sam scoffs before looking down at his phone.

"I don't know what to say. They just have to figure it out on their own." He mumbles.

"Useless." Cas says before vanishing from sight.

Sam lets out a groan before opening up his laptop once more.

"You're useless." He whispers under his breath before continuing his research.

Pulling at your skirt, you shove the doors open exiting the morgue with your best friend by your side.

"They both were pulled from the same corner, both were aspiring models that wanted to just make some extra cash to live." Dean says as he takes off his tie.

You frown before giving up at the uncomfortable fabric and groaning loudly. 

"Would you stop? You look like your diggin' up your ass to find gold." He whispers as people walk by you into the building.

"Yeah well, this skirt fucking sucks! I feel trapped in a cocoon!" You bark back as you walk towards Baby.

"Your butt looks good though." He compliments calmly as he walks around the car.

"Shut up!" You admonish as he opens the door for you.

"Look! I can't even move my legs!" You complain as you try to stretch your legs, the fabric only giving way about four inches before you find your legs trying to close from the tightness of the fabric.

Rolling his eyes he unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt.

"Yeah, alright. I hear you. Let's go back and change. God, you whiner." He says, leaving your door open as he rounds the car to open his own.

Throwing your body into the car, you unzip the back of your skirt before sighing happily.

Dean looks over before his eyes widen and he grips the steering wheel tightly.

He can see the revealing skin beneath the open zipper, the gentle parting of your asscheeks below the tight fabric.

"Are you kidding me?" He complains as he turns on the engine.

"I don't feel as suffocated, leave me alone." You mutter out as you unbutton a few buttons on your blouse.

You were used to tight tank tops, loose jeans and combat boots. 

His eyes falter to the soft looking skin in his peripheral again, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip before clearing his throat.

"Just wear suit pants next time. Jesus." He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

"Let's go change and get a beer. I'm thirsty." You tell him as you lower your window.

His head turns to watch you while he stops at a stoplight as you angle yourself out the window. The globes of your ass press tightly together as you fix yourself comfortably in the seat.

Running his large hand over his face, his bottom lip tucks between his teeth. 

You don't even know how sexy you are. You don't even care. That's what gets him so hot and bothered when he's alone.

"Light's green." You comment as you look at the autumnal leaves on the trees. 

God, what if he could just wrap his big hand around your waist and tug you into his lap. Pull you over the middle console of Baby and grip those sexy cheeks between his fingers.

So fucking pert and per-

"The light's green, idiot." You tell him as a car honks behind him. 

Sticking up his middle finger, he abandons his wildly horny thoughts to drive down the road.

"So are we getting beers?" You ask as you sit properly in the passenger's seat.

"Oh yeah. I need a drink." He murmurs, turning up the music loud.

"Yeah well we need to be quick about this. Another victim seems to be coming up." You say as you sit down in the booth of the dive bar with your two best friends by your side.

Throwing your legs over Dean's lap, you watch as his hands immediately grip them tugging you closer to his body on instinct as he sips his beer.

"There's not a single haunting in this town of Missouri." Sam whispers as the waitress comes over.

"Hey guys! Can I get you another round?" She asks, her eyes immediately wavering to the older brother as she pushes some hair behind her ear.

It doesn't quite bother you as much as you would think. Dean's been getting pussy since you both met. 

"What do you want?" He asks you, his thumb drifting over the leather of your thigh high combat boots as he ignores the waitress.

"Whisky and coke." You say as you look through the documents Sam has printed from a nearby Staples.

Dean leans closer to you and you freeze, your eyes flitting to Sam. You can feel your heart begin to beat faster, can feel your breath stuttering in your throat.

"You have an eyelash." He mumbles as he picks the lash off of your cheek.

Pulling back he holds the eyelash on his index finger in front of your face before turning to the waitress.

"I'll have what she's having. Sammy?" 

"Same." He murmurs suppressing his smile as you narrow your eyes at the younger brothers.

The waitress smiles, "Three whisky and cokes coming up. You want your drink extra strong, handsome?" 

Dean clears his throat as he pushes his empty beer bottle farther away from himself.

"Whatever you're giving my girl is good enough for me." He says calmly.

You wish that things would just fall into place, for the pain to go away and for your heart to be soothed and open once more.

You blow the eyelash off of his finger before leaning back in the booth. 

"She's your girlfriend?" The waitress asks, pointing at you with her pen.

You don't dignify a response as you stare at the pages of information on the victims. You're used to Dean turning the flirting into his nightly pleasure within a few minutes. 

"My wife, actually." Dean says before he finishes off your beer and grabs some papers on the case you're working.

Sam smiles widely before finishing his beer and you roll your eyes, suppressing the smirk your face just naturally wants to give. 

Her smile falters as she grabs the empty beer bottles before nodding.

"Lucky girl." She says and you snort before looking up at her.

"You don't know the half of it." You deadpan, earning a loud laugh from the younger best friend on your right.

Dean doesn't even watch her walk away, he plays with the laces of your boots as you continue to rifle through the papers.

"She was pretty." You comment as you turn your attention to him.

He looks up from your boots just to shrug, "Not in the mood." 

His brother lets off a low whistle as he leans his shoulder against yours, "Dean Winchester isn't in the mood? Has the world ended?" 

You giggle at his joke while his older brother grimaces. 

"Shut up." He mutters.

"Here you go. Three whisky and cokes." The waitress says as she begins to take them off the tray.

"Thank you swee-" He stops himself short before looking at Sam, who gives him a teasing smile as you put down the two photos of the victims on the table.

"Oh my Gosh. Those are the victims, aren't they?" The waitress whispers quietly as she leans against the booth.

"You know them?" Sam asks as he pushes his hair back.

"Of course. We haven't had murders or prostitutes for a long time around here." You sit up straighter, pulling your legs from Dean's lap.

"A long time? Online it says you never had any." You ask, tilting your head.

Dean sips his drink, staring at you instead of the waitress.

It's cute when you become interested in information, the way your shoulders straighten and your neck sticks out just a tad.

"Well yeah. The mayor probably doesn't want people to know that his grandmother was actually a prostitute. Or so they say." You hum intrigued as you pick up your drink.

She notices how keen you are and continues to speak, angling her body towards you.

"Apparently back in the early nineteen hundreds, there were prostitutes on that very corner. The mayor's grandmother being one of them. There was a guy named Morley Rosmund that had sex with one of the women from the corner behind his wife's back and she got pregnant. When he told her to get rid of it, she ended up killing him. She had sex with him first and then put his body through a woodchipper. Only up to his pelvis though and then she left him. Since then, all prostitutes have been disappearing on that corner for years." You nod at the story, your eyes flickering to Dean as he shakes his head with a wry chuckle.

"And no one talks about this?" Sam asks as she stands back up.

"You just need to talk to people that do know the tale, I guess." She says with a shrug before nodding to a group of people that call her from the other side of the bar.

"Well I'll be damned." Dean lifting his glass.

"Cheers." You say before clinking glasses with the both of them.

"Guess I'm putting on a dress tomorrow." You mutter as you write down the dead man's name.

"Can't wait to see how uncomfortable you get with that." Dean jeers with a laugh as he picks your legs back up and puts them on his lap.

Raising an eyebrow, you watch as he strokes the leather of your boots.

"It's comforting." He mumbles before finishing his drink with one large gulp.

Yeah, it is comforting.

Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: Eight

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace

Prompt: Amnesia

Word Count: 3925

Beta’d by the amazing @itmighthavebeenintentional

Aesthetic by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Divider by: @talesmaniac89

A/N: Set in season 11. Flashbacks are still in italics. Thanks for finishing this journey with me and all your patience! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

     Dean woke up to an empty bed, which shouldn’t have been surprising, yet the realization that she wasn’t there beside him kept hitting him harder each day. She was asleep in the room next door; it was both reassuring and torturous having her so close, never close enough.

    He stood outside her room and debated knocking. It was too early, he reminded himself. He let her sleep, like the day before and the whole week before that. Dean cursed Sam for giving her a room on his every path and headed to the kitchen for coffee. She shuffled in just after ten, looking blurry eyed and warm. Her hooded stare burned right through him as he handed her the mug that had already become hers.

    “Got anything stronger?” she mumbled, trying to play tough. He didn’t buy it.

    “You know, we’re not exactly on a strict schedule here. You could even go back to bed--- if you wanted.” Dean dipped his chin, gauging if he could keep prodding or step back.

    “Sleep is dumb, and besides, my room is boring,” she pouted, cupping the mug in both hands.

    “Thought Sammy had that laptop all set up for you?” Dean tried, brow knit in concern. She glanced up at him sheepishly, the heaviness inside reflected in her posture and the silent plea in her all-too-familiar eyes. Dean couldn’t help but soften as he continued, “Right, well, I was going to skip research today. If you’re up for it, we could do some target practice?”

    Just as Dean had returned her small smile, Sam came in with a breathy, “Hey.”

    Dean closed his eyes, unsuccessfully hiding from the disappointment before he turned to look at his brother. “Where’s the fire?”

    “Sandusky, it’s--- probably her,” Sam’s voice was calm, but his eyes told Dean whatever it was, it was bad.

    Dean nodded. “Okay, well, looks like I’m going to have to take a raincheck.” He faced her and saw all the unsaid things staring back at him. Tendrils frayed between them as he had to pull himself away again. “You gonna be okay by yourself? It’s gonna be a long drive, both ways.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I’m gonna be ransacking the place when you’re gone. How much do you think the Men of Letters shit will go for on Ebay?”

    Dean shook his head, even though he felt Sam flinch behind him. “Yeah, well, don’t touch anything that isn’t labeled as safe, alright?”

    “Go on, fight the good fight.” Her eyes sparkled with the forced casualness her wit always brought with it, letting them both off the hook.

    Dean sat in the driver’s seat, squinting in the afternoon sunlight, watching the hospital entrance with growing trepidation. Cas walked out with Sam first, the blood along Sam’s collar the only remnant of his injury. They quietly slid into their respective seats. Dean mumbled a greeting, but continued to stare at the glass doors across the parking lot.

    He ignored Sam’s sad puppy dog eyes and Cas’s perpetual confusion and waited, the keys grew sweaty in his hand against his thigh. She was discharged alongside Sam, though they played it off as a fender bender. Cas explained it all to her, as an off duty officer who happened to witness the ordeal and got them to the hospital in time.

    Dean had little problem bludgeoning her car to back the story up. 

    Fourteen minutes after Sam and Cas made it to the impala, she wandered out of the revolving door and into the life Dean had left for her. His eyes trailed her up and down the rows until she found her crumpled sedan. She fought with the driver side door and he almost got out to help her, but she managed. He exhaled as she disappeared from sight.

    His heart rotted inside his chest, arteries and veins strangled his lungs with the spreading poison. He sniffed and put the key in the ignition. 

    “Dean,” Sam started.

    “Don’t. Don’t say her name.” Dean snapped. “You mention her ever again and I will break your fucking nose, I swear.”

    Sam cocked his head and absorbed the rage in Dean’s words. He side-eyed Cas as they both agreed to those terms.

    Her car creeped behind them as she navigated the overly complicated traffic pattern between the hospital buildings. He gave her three minutes before he eased out of their spot and back onto the road. The only proof of his life with her was shoved into his duffle and buried in the trunk. The proof that couldn’t be written on the back of his eyelids or settled in the bottom of his gut.

    You stopped in the library for your laptop before settling at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee. Your curiosity was piqued and a quick search brought up the horrors that had been unleashed in Ohio.

    ‘Four Dead, Seven Injured in Nursing Home Altercation’

    You scrolled through the news story wondering how this spelled ancient dark being to Sam. In the weeks with the Winchesters, you had quickly learned what hunters looked for in order to sort out the regular awful and the freaky awful. It wasn’t until the last paragraph of the article that your blood ran cold.

    The CNA that had called the cops said a woman in a black dress had been bent over the patient when she came to take the elderly man to the common room for lunch. But when she asked her if she was the patient’s granddaughter, the woman had disappeared. That patient went on to assault the others at lunch with his spork and his fists.

    Naturally, the article questioned the eye witness’s credibility, but you knew better and so had Sam. You suddenly felt very scared for your hosts’ safety, despite their expertise.

     You closed the computer as Dean’s face ran through your thoughts.

    That night you did lunges down the web of hallways, muscles burning and face twisted in effort and bouts of laughter. It was ridiculous and if anyone had been home, you never would have dared, but it felt good to be silly and to use up the nervous energy that had been bubbling up inside since the guys had left.

    It wasn’t that you couldn’t sleep, but rather that you slept fitfully. Katelyn’s voice snarled through your dreams, the feel of her spit on your hand mimicked by the sweat leaching from your body. You gave up after the second nightmare, texting Dean for an update in the middle of the night before you could think your way out of it.

    Amara appeared to Dean fully grown, bathed in shadow. The hollows of her face were almost voids as she whispered in his nightmares. The nursing home was a tragedy they couldn’t stop, couldn’t fix. Amara was growing more powerful and there were plenty of souls in one place to feed from. Wherever she had been hiding, she didn’t wander out for long. It felt off.

    She was the itch he couldn’t scratch in the back of his mind.

    He didn’t want to keep chasing Amara, but the quicker she was off the board the better. It was a selfish desire, knowing he wasn’t fully himself since she had been released, but it aligned with the greater good, so he leaned into the hunt. The text he hadn’t replied to still stared back at him almost three days later. 

    There was no update to give and somehow he didn’t want to disappoint Y/N with a “no news” bullshit response.

     The trail had dried up two days before Sam and Dean headed home, the unwillingness to quit wearing them both down to the edge of constant bickering. They stopped chasing their tails and settled on a couple of days to recoup before easing back into the usual hunts. Dean needed a win, but he couldn’t force Amara out of hiding, and even if he could, they had no way to end her anyway.

     They got in close to eleven at night, creeping into the bunker so not to wake Y/N up. Sam showered first, and Dean sipped on a beer in the library before he decided to grab fresh pajamas and the shaving kit he kept in his attached half bath. But when he went into his room, he found a mound of blankets twisted in the middle of his bed, snoring lightly.

       He felt suddenly self-conscious about the state he had left his room and tried to count back to when he had last changed his sheets. But that worry didn’t stop him from blushing with the rush of excitement seeing her in his bed once more gave him. He gently pulled the door closed, turning on the bathroom room light to let him grab his things. 

      She murmured something in her sleep and rolled over, causing Dean to freeze in panic. He was trained in the art of silence, but since she moved in, it felt like he had gained two left feet. Her breathing returned to a steady rhythm, letting him watch her from the wedge of light he stood in. Once his eyes readjusted he saw that she had brought in pillows from her room, but was only  using his. He chuckled despite himself.

      With a final glance at her sleeping silhouette, Dean left for that shower. 

    You were running through your office, rows of cubicles surrounded you like an endless forest. The click of heels on concrete followed you, despite the banal beige carpeting you were treading. Suddenly everything went dark and then you were looking down on yourself, hands around your own throat as you both inflicted and felt the pressure cutting off your air supply.

    You woke up coughing uncontrollably, flailing in the dark against the non-existent double.

    Your elbow hit something firm and you backed yourself into the corner of the nightstand, trying to escape.

    “Hey, you okay?” Dean’s voice scratched through the dank confusion and you sat up, struggling to cover your chest and tummy with your bunched camisole. 

    “Dean? When’d you get home?” You coughed again, and swallowed thickly.

    “A couple of hours ago.” Dean whispered, propped up on his elbow, he watched you. You slowly made out his features in the dark, pale skin a beacon, hooded eyes and wet lips. He was so beautiful and he was right there.

    “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here without your permission, it was just so quiet and being here made me feel sa---,”

    “It’s fine, I mean, you’re still a blanket hog, but I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Dean reassured, before he shifted the pillows so he was propped against the headboard. “So, nightmares, huh?”

    His hands rested in his lap, pajama bottoms firmly above the comforter, practically chivalrous. Especially after you had helped yourself to his bed.

    “Yeah, mostly,” you admitted, swallowing once more, the phantom pain had started to ebb with the conversation. “I should go, let you sleep, you had a long drive.”

    “Hey, come here.” Dean cocked his head, beckoning you to him as he opened his arms. You hesitated. Then he tipped his chin, and you were a goner. Awkwardly you situated your body against his chest, his strong arms framed you just so. “That’s better, in’it?”

    You sank into his warmth, refusing to be self-conscious about being half naked in your tank top and sleep shorts, and just relished in the firmness of his body and how it supported yours.

    He breathed in your hair, his lips grazed your forehead, and you squeezed him tighter.

    “I never wanted to be the bad guy. I don’t know what to do now, don’t know how to deal with this guilt,” you explained, staring at the slats on the bottom of the door.

    Dean pulled back to look you in the eye. “You did what needed to be done. That bitch was going to kill you. There is nothing wrong with defending yourself.”

    “I know. It’s just--- this--- being a fugitive is not where I ever thought I’d be,” you admitted, eyes closed in pained shame.

    The moments ticked away, the weight of your words increasing as your breathing fell in sync with Dean’s. His thumb tapped a gentle rhythm against your side, as you rested your head on his shoulder. You were so close you weren’t sure if you were smelling or tasting him.

    “Life on the run ain’t easy.” Dean shifted so your head fell over his heart. “But I do know you can’t lose yourself to guilt. Trust me, there are things that I have done that still keep me up at night. It doesn’t bring them back, it doesn’t undo anything. Except for maybe your sanity.”

    He let out a sad three-beat-laugh. 

    “Just keep doing what’s right. Make the world better in your own little way and hope that someday you’ll find your own absolution,” Dean spoke as if he was a million miles away.

    A moment before you thought better of it, you asked, “Have you found yours?”

    Dean stiffened in your arms and then exhaled, his fingers threaded through your hair. Slowly he relaxed again, his chest and arms softening to the point of you forgetting which parts were him and which bits were you. 

    “Right now, it feels like I might,” Dean whispered in response to the question you almost forgot you had asked. You blushed beneath the implication, the warmth between you intensifying Dean’s natural magnetism. His honeyed voice and steadfast embrace was hypnotic amidst the exhausted chaos of your thoughts. 

    “Dean, I ---?”

    Dean hummed in response before he shushed you. “It’s fine, just try and go back to sleep.”

    You fell silent, the emotions rolling through you in waves of strung out anticipation and tempering doubt. In the end your mind stopped trying to stay afloat and let you sink into the depths of a ragged slumber.

    Then one night, you slept. It wasn’t exactly refreshing, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was something. The fact that you had been crawling into Dean’s bed each night, may have helped. 

      Deep down, you felt the shift in your psyche: a glacial slide, the gradual progress of accepting what you had done which sprouted the fissuring magmic ooze that was hardening you into something new. Forged yet still fragmented, you bent to each sweltering degree as you navigated the impossible almost Dean and you had stumbled into.

      Dean was in love with you. 

       You felt it first when he called you honey and invited you to breakfast all those weeks before. And you knew it the moment he shared your past in a handful of worn photographs. Unfortunately, you just didn’t know if he loved the you that you were becoming or the woman you had been. Your past self, which you didn’t even know. 

      Both possibilities were equally terrifying.

      Winter slid into Kansas like a muddied dog, invasive and messy. Your usual and completely unscheduled call from Michelle told you that you were expected back for Christmas. No excuse, safe for an actual arrest, would suffice. You could almost taste your aunt’s green bean casserole already. You smiled to yourself, imagining Dean in an ugly sweater as Sam, oblivious, would knock his forehead on Michelle’s dubiously placed mistletoe.

      Because, of course, they were invited too. Not that you would have gone without them at your side; they were as much your family now as Michelle and her parents had always been. 

     You hung up without promising your cousin anything except that you would stay safe. Though Dean and Sam were never in the bunker for long, you were fairly certain you could persuade them to take a few days off for a real, home-cooked, holiday meal. You just didn’t know if you would be bringing your roommates/ bodyguards or if you would be bringing whatever it was Dean had become and his brother.   

      That would require you to address the real problem. One far scarier than the temporal question of Dean’s affections.

      You hadn’t let yourself fall for Dean. Not completely. You had been holding your breath, so oxygen deprived that you had developed tunnel vision. And no matter how patient or generous Dean had been, he couldn’t get you to acknowledge the silent, unanswered question in his eyes.

      No amount of cuddles or lips brushed warmly over your forehead or strong arms that held you through the terror of your nightmares had emboldened you to fully reciprocate his affections. You remained simultaneously in his arms and proverbially a day’s drive east.

     The problem was if you let yourself love him, you would be giving him permission to hurt you. Again.

      You had time, you told yourself, before you would be introducing your aunt and uncle to the Winchesters. And you would drag your feet the entire two and a half weeks until then.

One week later   

      The half-truths had grown comfortable, expected, predictable. Dean and Sam would return from a case and Y/N would have food in a crock pot or beer and popcorn waiting for them to unwind before bed. She would duck out early, and then Sam. Dean would have another drink alone, telling himself he’d be brave enough to say something if she turned up at his door again.

    He had too many misgivings about what she’d say. It wasn’t fair to make it about him when she’d get so riled up after the nightmares. 

    It was better to wait for the morning.

     “Dean?” Her voice broke through his internal rationalizing, and he held his breath. She wasn’t upset, no tension nor tears. The look in her eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

    “What’s up?”

    She laughed dismissively, a short trill ending on disbelief. “You didn’t even hear me, did you?”

    “Uh, no, not really. Come on in.” Dean stepped back, letting her in once again with his heart in his throat.

    “We should talk,” she repeated.

    “About?” Dean rested his hands on his hips, straightening himself as he watched her crawl into his desk chair and perch, heels along the edge, as she hugged her knees.

    “Us?” She made it sound like he was slow. His eyebrows shot up; this was happening.

    “Okayyyyyy,” Dean trailed off. She gave him nothing back. “What specifically do you want to talk about?”

     “You’re in love with me.” She smiled that secret keeping half-smile.

      He huffed in exasperation, but couldn’t help but smile back. “Really? You’re sure about that?”

     “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. 

     “So?”

     “Sooooooo, it’s your turn.” She looked up at him, chin jutted out, challenging.

      “My?” Dean stammered, hand curled at his own chest. “You’re saying--- that I need to---- I don’t know, diagnose your feelings?”

      “Yup.” 

       She was going to be the death of him, that shit-eating grin already creeping up on her lips as she watched him huff and puff and try to pull himself together. He looked at her like a deer trapped in headlights, and she looked back; he felt like he was going to melt under the pressure.

       “I mean---- I don’t---- What do you want me to say?!” Dean chuckled self-deprecatingly. He dropped to the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees as he started at the floor, but finished to her face. “Christ, I know what I want to say, but I can’t say it for you, Y/N. You have to mean it.”

      “And what if I do?” Her feet fell to the floor as she leaned on her palms. She seemed somewhere between coming fully back to him and flying away for good.

    Dean started to let the hope sneak in. “Well, I was kind of thinkin’ you would’ve shown me already.”

    Time stopped.

    She launched at him, and just as he caught her, a notch above the waist, her lips stole his breath. He gave it away willingly, until there was no more to spare.

    Triumph. Relief. Yearning answered.

    Dean’s arms curled around her body, clutching her to him as her momentum pushed their top halves onto the bed. It felt like a dream; Dean wouldn’t open his eyes ever again.

    They tasted and teased each other, lips and tongues, whispers and snickers. She looked down at him like he hung the goddamned moon, and he prayed he’d never do anything again that would change that. He swallowed, not sure what to say next, unwilling to break that impossible moment.

    It just got better.

    She left a trail of punctuated kisses up his jaw and whispered in his ear. “I love you, too, you idiot.”

    In a flash, Dean rolled you onto your back, sliding you fully onto the bed at last. He practically purred as he nuzzled your pulse point before leaving a sloppy kiss behind your ear. You shivered, bolts of electricity shot through your body, burning from the inside out.

    “I--- just let me tonight,” Dean insisted, hands in your hair as he pleaded over your lips. “Please?”

    “Be my guest.” You didn’t know where all that nerve had been buried, but it was reassuring to find your footing after so long.

    He kissed you dizzy, stubble scraping and lips soothing. Slowly you were able to lay down your worries, alongside your clothing. With each brush of his mouth over your body you became lighter, leaving behind the fear and the uncertainty for something you’d never thought you’d get: trust and understanding. 

     True acceptance. 

     You fell into the moment, head first and determined, enjoying the knowledge he had retained of your body as he planted a firm palm over the thick roll of flesh above your mound, holding you in place before he dove in.

    His tongue told you that you were wanted, his fingers showed you how you were cherished, revered. His lips were lingering reminders that he wasn’t leaving again, that you were just where you were meant to be, that he needed to show you all the things he couldn’t say out loud. 

    That you came first, always.

    Bursting and brilliant, Dean saw to it, gentle yet persistent.

    He never stopped touching you, aching to hold you as long as you’d let him. Maybe longer. He crawled his way back up your body, nuzzling your nose with his before you got your mouth back on him. You drank in his now tangy desperation.

     You locked him in the cradle of your legs, telling him you were just as invested, a puzzle completed. Together you found your rhythm, your promises matched and measured. It was everything, and it was easy: no confusion or second guessing, just bliss. Dean’s moan broke on your name, and you felt it as if it had been the thousandth time, not your first. 

     It was you and Dean, forever as it had always been. These feelings had always existed, and they would never leave because not even the host of heaven had been able to snuff them out. They had lingered within you, and now that they were fulfilled, you knew you were going to make it in this uncertain life. 

      Because as scared as you were, you were certain of Dean. And he’d never stopped betting on your ability to keep fighting, to pull through all on your own. 

      His faith in you had seen you through the mess with Katelyn and years of unknown memories. Now you had nothing but time to regain what you’d lost, because lost things always have a way of finding their way home.

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624 @kalesrebellion​

General SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

Alright, so if you've been following along with me, Supernatural season 3 starts out on a trio of episodes that are Really Fun, slides into some episodes that are Pretty OK, then takes a real nose dive into Bummersville. Hoo boy guys, I really hope that this season picks up. I mean, it won’t, but I can still dream. 2021 was maybe not the year to start watching this season. Fair warning.

The next three episodes for this season are just, like, real downers. First we get “Fresh Blood,” which, aside from the terrible title, starts out on a high note. Gordon (gross) somehow manages to catch up with Bela (HOW??) and threatens her if she doesn’t hand over the Winchesters. Bela, in all of her class and grace, won’t give them up because she has a high price point and Gordon is really lowballing her here. Just like, yes, ok, please stay forever, you’re amazing and I love you. And what a scene this is! You have two characters, one with a strict moral code (albeit one that allows for violence and winning at all costs) and the other with almost NO moral code, but an allegiance that can be bought with the best price and it’s such a fun back and forth until Gordon pulls out a gun. And then she pulls out her phone and just has Dean on speed dial and that’s maybe my fav part. Bela has run into the Winchesters twice and they maybe legit hate her but she’s very much like, oh yeah, my BFF’s the Winchesters, I love those idiots!

I love that we come back to this moment later in the episode when Bela, like, three days later, is like, Oh! I guess I should warn the Winchesters that some crazy guy is after them! She’s just so casual about it you kind of get the feeling that, even though technically Gordon was threatening her life, she doesn’t view him as A Threat. She gives the Winchesters a heads up just to be like oh yeah, you might want to watch out for this mild inconvenience, and she seems legit shocked when Dean freaks out. There’s this moment that plays across her face like, oh shit, did I...did I fuck up? And it adds a nice bit of depth to her character. She’s seems honestly worried, both for the lives of the Winchesters but also that Dean won’t like her anymore and that is just a charming bit of A C T I N G!

I am gonna miss her SO MUCH when she dies at the end of this season. WHY did we CANCEL HER???

But despite the fun beginning, this episode is about monsters and how people become monsters and how other people are probably the reason. Because our main baddie is a vampire who hunts to...well, listen if we look at the facts that he lays out in his monologue, it’s a little more tragic - he’s trying to replace the daughters that he lost hundreds of years ago, cool motive, still murder. In practice though, he goes around turning hot blonde coeds into vampires and then ?????? Who knows. I’d like to believe that this was a problem with the CW executives or maybe casting/directing and not with the writing, but it’s SPN and you really can’t be sure with anything. The fact is, this is a CW show from the early 2000’s and a lot of their extras are cast to type. And that’s maybe me exhibiting some girl-on-girl crime, but there are other episodes that did a much less blatantly gross job casting their extras/Very Special Guest Stars.

Anyway, the POINT of this guy is that he’s a monster because someone killed his daughter and he’s just been trying to fill that grief hole inside of him for centuries. This is not unlike Gordon, who ALSO has been trying to fill a grief hole that he’s had for decades, except he’s not killing people and resurrecting them as blood suckers, he’s just killing them. And then, when the Vamp decides to turn Gordon it’s a real sweet moment of comeuppance for like, a HOT second and then you’re like, awww dude, ya done f’ed up. That was a bad idea. You’ve made a HUGE mistake.

More importantly, our Vampire In Question finally runs into the Winchesters and get’s to say things like “I was desperate! You ever felt desperate? I've lost everyone I ever loved. I'm staring down eternity alone. Can you think of a worse hell?” and also “I just ... I didn't care anymore. Do you know what it's like when you just don't give a damn? It's like ... it's like being dead already.” and Dean’s v. much like, THIS IS TOO REAL ROY.

Sam may ALSO be feeling Too Real feelings because he is DONE dicking around with Gordon and honestly yes, I like this, this is good Sam development. It’s nice to know that Sam has a breaking point. And I admit I’m of two minds about this moment because 1) I love the idea of Dark!Sam this season and that maybe Sam’s decision to actually kill Gordon is just one step in that process but 2) I ALSO love the idea of Sam Lite finally having a breaking point and Gordon is IT. I don’t know which theory I like more in this scenario, but they are both good theories.

I think as much as this episode wants to draw parallels between the monsters and Dean (thank you artful editors), you can’t look at the “I’ve lost everyone I ever loved,” line and not think of Sam? Cuz he’s got one (1) person left in his life that hasn’t died horribly, so how desperate is he about to get through the end of this season? I’ve definitely been watching this season with eyes on all the ominous Dean foreshadowing, but the Sam foreshadowing is also there, just buried under the heavy weight of a thousand smulders and suicidal levels of denial.

And also, FUCK the tag on this episode! Guys, it is CUTE but it is also HORRIBLE. Dean starts teaching Sam how to fix the Impala and at first it’s all, “Oh! Adorable Brothers Being Brothers!” and I loved it but then I almost immediately hated it because you realize this is about making sure Sam can get along without him once he’s gone and Dean just accepts his own death with such casual ease that it’s just...INFURIATING!

This scene was rude and I HATE IT!

Cut to - “A Very Supernatural Christmas” Special!

Guys, I was so excited when I got to this episode. THIS is Classic Supernatural Shenanigans. Plus, you know a Holiday Special is the ultimate sign that this show has Made It, right? Or it could be a sign that they’re selling out, who knows, but I think we can say that at this point in the series, SPN is established enough to start having fun with their fans. That’s what this says to me. BUT THEN what we get is like...oh boy.

First - like, I’mma beat this horse to death, but what is WRONG with this FAMILY? John Winchester very quickly devolved into the sort of father that forgot about every single holiday and did not ever, even a little bit, make up for it. It’s not a surprise, but it kind of wrecked me seeing a flashback where Baby Dean is just so attached to a father who can’t be bothered to actually care for his children. I know he’s not in this episode because Jeffrey Dean Morgan was tied up in other projects, but the fact that John doesn’t show up at the end to button the flashbacks with a But then he DID show up for Christmas! just makes this plot line that more gutting. And despite Dean’s hero worship of their father, this is maybe the Christmas where Baby Sam stops believing in his own father. The only bright side to this is that it continues to enforce the fact that Bobby should have sued John for custody. Bobby should maybe STILL Sue for custody so that Dean at least would feel like someone wants him for once in his life, damnit.

And then we wrap this episode up with the Best Worst Christmas of all, because we see Sam start to...also?? accept that Dean is about to die? Cuz that’s what this episode is really about - Dean’s Last Christmas. And everything about that makes me ~ u p s e t ~.

So Sam decides to put his curmudgeonly grinchy attitude aside in order to make it a special day for Dean and ugh. UGH. UGHGHGHG. Season three is the worst guys, and I can’t believe I didn’t realize that until right this second now.

So let’s wrap this up with "Malleus Maleficarum", honestly an episode that is mostly forgettable until we get to, like, the last five minutes. Sure, witches and curses and selling your soul, woohoo whatever.

But then we get some real Ruby centric reveals and like, WHAT is happening?? First off, the scene where Ruby and Tammy have a moment is a real Moment. There is some baggage and tension here and it is heavy. And then Tammy drops the mic when she reveals that Ruby used to be human.

THEN, Ruby legit saves their asses by killing Tammy with a fancy magic knife. Ok, Dean does the actual killing, but Ruby brought the fancy magic knife. So between the hot and heavy tension with “Tammy” and her repeated attempts to keep the Winchesters alive, we’re left wondering what IS Ruby’s deal? I personally wonder how much of the show’s mythology the show actually has figured out at this point? Because interviews with Kripke definitely walk the line between “Oh we definitely have this whole thing worked out,” and “yeah, we’re sort of finding things as we go along,” which is maybe why it’s able to last as long as it does. More on that later.

Of course the big kicker is the final scene between Ruby and Dean. Dean is almost on board with Ruby at this point in the season, and much like his scene with the demon in “Sin City”, they share a kind of vulnerable moment together where Ruby admits that, yeah, she was human once and yeah, Hell will destroy you, body and soul, and yeah Dean’s worst fear will probably come true - he will become the thing he hunts, no ifs, ands or buts about it. And Dean knows that Ruby knows that Dean knows that there’s no way to save Dean from his fate, but they both agree that they can’t take Sam’s last ounce of hope away from him because, for both of them, Sam is their hope. Ruby and Dean both see the war happening around them and they know that with Dean gone, Sam’s maybe the last guy holding back the tide to save all humanity.

Which, honestly? Bull shit. Do you know how many hunters are out there? Neither do I, but this season seems to indicate that there are a LOT. We have barely scratched the surface on the hunter community and it’s a damn shame that they are all weirdo loners because there is a war going on. You know what works great in a war? An ARMY. Buncha mentally unstable, martyr-complex ijits who can’t put their differences aside for one damn MINUTE so that maybe, JUST maybe, the could actually defeat the evil they’ve spent their entire lives dedicated to fighting. And if Ruby and Dean wanted to help Sam, what they should probably do is get him plugged in to that community. I do believe that of all they backasswards, self-obsessed, painfully anti-social crazies out there, the Winchesters are THE WORST.

Listen tho, this was like, a solid scene between these two. Just a lot of work goin' into this and it paid off.

Anyway, back to the mythology for a hot second - This sort of loosey-goosey stumbling into your own world building is probably another one of those things that you’ll only really get in a show with this many episodes per season? It’s that room to play and experiment and just make stuff up as you go along. I think the slow drip method of releasing episodes ALSO helps in this scenario because you’re able to see what fans are reacting to in almost-real time. When viewers are binging episodes, I think you're less likely to see what specifically they’re reacting to and more wholistically they’re reacting to. And that’s not to say you won’t see those specific things that they like/love eventually, but by the time you get there, your season’s been produced in its entirety and you’ll have to bear that in mind for (hopefully) next season. But with SPN, they were writing and producing the show at the same time that some of the episodes were airing. That’s why they were able to make decisions on the fly, based on what fans responded to. And definitely by this point in the show, there was a sizeable and vocal fan base that made their feelings VERY well-known. We’re only in season three, but they’ve already had a number of con appearances and a pretty active online presence. That kind of feedback has got to be helpful, from a writing perspective, but it also allows for things like characters getting cut because nobody liked them for some dumb reason. BUT, if you’re fighting to stay on the air for 100 episodes or longer, responding to fan reactions is what’s gonna do it and that’s a fact.

[klove0511]

The Only Way Out

Author: @klove0511​ Artist: @dwimpala-67​

Genre: Angst Pairing: Gen Rating: G Wordcount: 8108 Warnings: Major Character Death,  hurt!Sam, hurt!Dean, ghost!Sam, canon divergent after season 1 Summary: What if Sam had been the one left in a coma after the car accident?

Fic link: AO3

Art link: Tumblr

The world felt heavy, wrapped in wool and weighted to hold him down. Dean came to slowly, aware first of the sluggish response of his limbs, then more distantly aware of pain when he moved them. A steady, irritating beep told him he was in a hospital just as surely as the sterile smell of cleaning products or too white light over his bed. He struggled through the fog of opioids to remember what he'd done to land him here. What had they been hunting? Why was he alone? 

A glance at the window told him it was early morning, with the sky beginning to lighten and clear enough to promise warmth later. Still, the room was medical-building-chilly, and Dean was grateful for the blankets keeping him warm.

He felt his thoughts drifting, trying to piece together what had happened. Dean always hated when they put him on the really heavy pain meds because it became a struggle just to think. He didn't know where Sam was, but the fact that he was absent was concerning enough to cut through some of the haze. Dean remembered the last time he'd woken up in a hospital, after the rawhead incident, and Sam had been there nonstop, except when he couldn't be. The cops had pulled him out of the room for questions, the doctors had shooed him away to let them poke and prod Dean in peace, and one nurse in particular had enforced the hospital's visiting hours to make sure Sam went back to the motel long enough to get some sleep. But all of that had been after Dean woke up. Sam should be here, now. So where was he?

Unfortunately, the fog of the drugs was already pulling him back down into sleep, no matter how he fought to stay awake. A burst of cold from the air conditioning made him shiver, and as he drifted off he swore he could hear Sam saying he’d stay until Dean woke up, though he couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from.

 When Dean woke again, the sun shone brightly through his window, warming the room almost to an uncomfortable level. A nurse was taking his vitals, and he was pretty sure she said something about going to get a doctor. Maybe. Waking up in a hospital was worse than a killer hangover.

He grayed out for a minute, but when he was able to refocus, he was already feeling clearer than the last time he’d been conscious. The nurse was back with a dude in a lab coat, who Dean assumed was a doctor.

Dean didn’t bother waiting for the doctor to ask him anything. “Where’s Sam?”

The doctor didn’t answer the question right away, which annoyed Dean. Instead, he replied with a question of his own. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He’d meant it to be sarcastic, but judging by the reactions he got from both the doctor and the nurse, that was pretty close to what had landed him in the hospital. That knowledge did nothing to lessen the anxiety he was feeling over Sam’s continued absence. Already feeling sleep pulling him down again, he tried once more, wishing he didn’t sound so much like he was begging. “Please, where’s my brother?”

This time, the doctor took pity on him. “Your father is visiting him now.”

 John listened to Sam’s doctor explaining the extent of his injuries with only half his mind. Sam was lying in the hospital bed, broken beyond repair, and that was all he needed to know. He was going to lose his son, but the demon's plans for Sam were over. He was ashamed to admit there was a sliver of relief in the chaotic emotions running through him. At least now Sam would be safe, and John’s worst fears could be laid to rest.

But beyond the fleeting relief and acceptance, there were the beginnings of grief. More than anything, he wanted a drink or four, but he couldn't do that yet. Later, he would drink himself into oblivion, but first he had to tell Dean. He grimaced. Dean was going to be devastated and telling him was going to be painful. At least John was being granted a reprieve from that duty for now, as Dean still hadn’t woken.

In the meantime, he had business to attend to, and while he hated himself for feeling this way, he was grateful for the distraction. He took one more look at Sam’s still form and murmured, “I’m sorry, son.” Then he pulled out his phone and pulled up Bobby’s number as he exited the hospital.

 At the junkyard an hour later, John sifted through the wreckage, looking for the Colt. He could feel Bobby’s eyes on him, but he was doing his best to ignore his friend.

“What are you doing out here, John?” Bobby asked, his voice less accusing than it could have been.

John didn’t answer immediately, but he stopped what he was doing, too. “I’m looking for the gun that’ll kill the thing that killed Mary and put my boys in the hospital.” He wondered, briefly, if his voice sounded as dead as he felt inside.

Bobby scoffed at his answer. “Hell, I could have done emptied the car. Those boys need you to be there for them right now.”

John swallowed down irritation at Bobby presuming to know what his sons needed. He was a good friend, but this was an old argument between them. Bobby had always tried to step in and be the father he thought John failed to be. “Didn’t want to put you out like that. Besides, they aren’t awake yet. No reason I couldn’t do this myself.”

Bobby paused before answering, and John wondered if there was going to be more commentary on his parenting forthcoming. Luckily it seemed there wasn’t going to be when Bobby said, “What do you want to do with the car, then? Don’t seem worth a tow.”

John extricated himself from the wreckage, having found the gun he was looking for. Taking a step back, he surveyed the twisted remains of the Impala. “It’s Dean’s now. I say tow it to your place until he’s ready to work on it. And if he doesn’t want to fix her up, then scrap her.”

Ignoring Bobby’s silent sympathy, John walked away from one of the last remnants of his life with Mary and toward the rental car that would take him back to the hospital and Dean.

 By the time John arrived, Dean had declined most of his dinner—opioids made him nauseous—and talked himself down from two panic attacks about Sam. He'd gotten the nurse to confirm that they had, in fact, been hit by a truck, and now that Dean thought about it, he was pretty sure he remembered the sound of breaking glass. Once he started to access the memory, he could remember bits and pieces from before the accident—his dad possessed by the demon, Sam shooting their dad in the leg, feeling woozy from blood loss. Piecing together his memory was the only thing that kept him distracted from thinking about Sam, until his dad appeared in the doorway.

His dad looked haggard, weary in a way Dean hadn't seen before. He was on crutches and sported some impressive bruising, but seemed uninjured otherwise. 

"Good to see you awake, son," he said.

"You too, sir." Dean swallowed nervously. "How's Sam?"

His dad's face morphed through half a dozen emotions before settling into careful neutrality, and the bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach. "Sam is in a coma. It’s bad.” 

Dean breathed slowly, deeply, fighting the panic that had been hounding him all day. "He's dying." When John didn't answer immediately, Dean spat, "Isn't he?"

John’s face was a damn mask, revealing nothing, and his even tone was no better. "We don't know. The doctors say they've done all they can, and it's up to Sam now."

Dean nodded, then rasped, "So what are we going to do?"

John was silent for a long time. Too long, in Dean's opinion. "We aren't going to do anything, Dean."

“What?”

John’s face darkened. His dad didn’t like being questioned, but Dean didn’t understand. He knew that finding a legitimate healer was a long shot, but Sam had done it. He’d even done it alone; Dean hadn’t been in any position to help, and John sure as hell hadn’t been around. The two of them together, maybe with Bobby’s network to help, had much better odds of finding a hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on his brother.

 John had left angry, but Dean was furious. His dad wanted to “let nature take its course,” which was a load of bullshit. They had access to resources the doctors didn’t, things that could save his brother. They might normally hunt most of those resources in the name of the greater good, but this was different. This was Sam.

Dean sat in a wheelchair by Sam’s bed, trying not to stare at the bandages around his brother’s head. He shivered, remembering the doctor listing off Sam’s injuries.

"Sam suffered a severe blow to the head during the accident. He also sustained several broken ribs and crush injuries from the steering column. We repaired the broken ribs with pins, and we placed a chest tube to reinflate his right lung, which had been punctured by one of his ribs. We were also very concerned about the degree of brain swelling, and during surgery we removed a portion of Sam's skull to help alleviate the pressure."

Dean stared at the tubes practically covering every inch of his brother and tried to imagine part of his skull missing underneath the white bandages swaddling his head. Sam was going to be pissed when he woke up. They'd shaved his head to do the surgery. "How's he doing now?"

The doctor shook his head. "He has remained unresponsive, which is not an encouraging sign, but he's stable at the moment. That said, he is a fighter. Most patients would not have survived even this long with his degree of injury. "

Of course he was a fighter. He was a Winchester.

The doc had been sympathetic, but all Dean could focus on was the idea that Sam was a real life Humpty Dumpty, and try as they might, the doctors couldn’t put him back together again. He needed more than they could offer, and that wasn’t considering the possibility of long-term complications from his injuries. He needed a miracle. But it was perfectly, explicitly clear that John wasn’t going to help and didn’t condone Dean wanting to intervene. He didn't know how he was going to do this behind his dad's back, but he would. He'd find something.

Maybe, if he managed to find something innocuous enough, his dad would come around and help. His gut clenched, and he knew he didn't really believe it, but he could hope. He wasn't going to lose his brother again. 

He believed that about as much as he believed the flickering lights in Sam’s room were due to bad wiring.

 As soon as Dean was released from the hospital, he went to Bobby's place. The Impala was there with all of their stuff.

All of Sam's stuff.

Dean sighed, surveying the car. It was a mess, the frame twisted beyond recognition.  The driver’s side was crushed, and the door had been cut away to give the rescue team better access to Sam. There was dark staining on the seat that he knew had to be Sam’s blood. He looked away, throat tight.

He’d fix the car eventually, but the reason he’d come had been to grab his stuff and pull out anything he thought might be helpful in getting Sam back on his feet. His laptop was toast, and the Colt was gone. According to Bobby, John had come by yesterday and retrieved some gear, then taken off again. They both assumed he was back to chasing the Yellow Eyed Demon. Nothing like revenge for a son he hadn't even officially lost yet.

Heading inside, he grabbed a couple beers from Bobby's fridge. He found the hunter in his study, flipping through one of his dozens of books on the supernatural. "Thanks for bringing Baby here," he said, dropping into a chair. Dust motes swirled in the late afternoon sunbeams coming through the dirty windows, drawing Dean’s attention back out to the yard where his mangled childhood home sat.

Bobby looked up, narrowing his eyes at Dean. "What are you planning, idjit?"

Dean grimaced, wishing the older hunter couldn’t read him so well. "I can't leave Sam like this, you know that." He took a long pull from his beer and swallowed nervously. "I was hoping one of your contacts might know something."

" 'Bout the demon?" Bobby said cautiously.

Dean shook his head. "About a healer. Or a white witch or hoodoo priest or something. Anything that might help."

Bobby ran his hand down his face, stubble rasping as he rubbed his chin. "You know that's a long shot at best."

Dean studied the condensation gathering on the bottle as he picked at the label. "I know. But I gotta do something. He's my brother." He looked away, unwilling to watch Bobby pity him as he said, “Dad won’t help.”

Bobby watched him for a moment, then apparently saw whatever it was he was looking for because he replied, "We'll figure it out. How long you staying before you head back?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Not long. He's stable, for now, but the doctors—" 

When he didn't finish his sentence, Bobby grumbled and said, "Yeah, I know. Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you want. And before you say it, I know. You're not leaving him in that hospital by himself. I'm just saying my house is open, all right?"

Dean slumped back in the chair, some of the tension gone from his shoulders. "I talked to the doctor today about getting him transferred to Sioux Falls. They didn't love the idea, but they agreed to it when I said he'd be closer to family. Might be able to happen in a couple days, if—"

Bobby cut him off. "Then give me a call when you're on your way back, and I'll clear out the guest room. Don't think it's been used since the last time you boys stayed with me. And, in the meantime, I'll ask around about healers. Let you know if I hear something."

Dean's nod was small and tight; relief wasn't going to come until he had a lead to follow, but it was still nice to know that Bobby was in their corner. 

 Dean stood in the doorway to Sam's new room. He was still on a ventilator, though most of the bandages had been removed that morning. Sam was pale, gray tinged, and a far cry from the California-tan he'd been just a few months ago. In the week he'd been hospitalized, Dean could tell he was already losing muscle mass. If Dean managed to pull this off, then Sam was still going to have a long road ahead of him before he was back to normal. But at least he'd be alive, Dean reasoned. 

He was greeted by a cool breeze when he crossed the threshold and finally entered the room, like every other time he'd come to visit. It didn't matter how many times he asked the staff at the old hospital, the temperature in his room was perpetually freezing. The idea of the problem following Sam across state lines made his stomach turn. 

The plastic chair creaked when he settled in, and he tried to ignore how Sam's shaved head made him look like an alien. The problem was that, like a train wreck, he couldn't look away. Finally, he sighed and said aloud, "Damn, Sammy. I cannot believe you were right about that hair all this time." He shivered, and he would have sworn the temperature dropped another couple degrees, but he kept talking. "I know I gave you a lot of crap about it over the years. But you were absolutely right. You look better with long hair. And I don't mean that just because you're a giant girl." He paused, waiting. When nothing happened, he mentally kicked himself. Of course nothing happened. Sam wasn't dead. He wasn't a ghost; he was a dude in a coma. 

"Anyway," he continued, "I found a spell that’ll work, but, uh, I don't think you're gonna like it." The lights and monitors picked that moment to flicker, and an alarm sounded that brought the nursing staff running. 

Dean stood out of the way, watching tensely as they did their job checking Sam, his equipment, and the monitors. It wasn't the first time it had happened during a visit, but it never stopped being nerve wracking. What if something important shorted out this time? It was one of the reasons he had worked so hard on getting Sam transferred up to Sioux Falls General. Now it was happening here too. The twist in his gut kept telling him it wasn't faulty equipment that produced the shorts, but he refused to believe it. Sam wasn't dead, damn it. 

It's better this way.

When the room had cleared out again, Dean resumed his position in the chair by the bed. "Like hell this is better," he muttered to himself. He sighed and scrubbed his face. "Like I was saying, I found something in one of the books I grabbed from Bobby’s before you got transferred. It's a spell, for binding a reaper." 

The temperature in the room plummeted until Dean’s breath was ghosting in front of his face. No.

"I know," he said, his voice gruff and quiet. "I don't like it either. But I have to do something. We know this works. And, yeah, we know the cost, so I'll figure it out. I— Whatever I might be willing to do, I know you would never forgive me if I saved you at someone else's expense. I'll figure it out, ok? Maybe it can target a monster, or something, yeah? Something we'd be killing anyway?" 

Nothing from the peanut gallery. 

"Fine, be a bitch about it. I won't do the spell." He ground his teeth together, hating that he was giving in to, what? A broken air conditioner? "Not unless I'm out of options. Ok, Sam?"

The lights flickered, but none of the other equipment was affected this time, thankfully. Dean took it as agreement, and he left to hit the books again.

 The next day, he got a call from one of Bobby's contacts about a faith healer that was supposed to be the real deal.

He looked into the healer John Rogers, checked for suspicious deaths, unusual money transfers, anything that might indicate he was a fraud or of the same ilk as the pastor's wife Sue Ann from that case in Nebraska. The financials came back squeaky clean, but Dean's gut told him there was something he was missing. He was only an hour away, though, so against his better judgment he stopped in for one of the guy's services. 

The tent was crowded, like he remembered from the last time. It was a different preacher, but the same crowd, the same stale air with just a hint of desperation. It was too hot with the press of bodies and lack of air conditioning, and Dean wished he'd skipped the flannel overshirt. The murmur of the crowd made it near impossible to listen in on any conversations, but they seemed excited, optimistic. Well, he supposed any hope was better than none. Not like he could relate. 

However, where the pastor in Nebraska had been earnest, this guy felt like a used car salesman. From his first words, Dean felt slimy just being in the same room as the guy, even though he hadn't said anything more troubling than 'welcome, new and old patrons alike.'

Dean leaned forward in his seat, trying to relax but appear attentive. His attention wasn't entirely focused on the sermon, though.  He watched the guy, sure, but he also watched the crowd. Dozens of people were in the tent, some with obvious ailments and some without. He focused on maladies easy to fake—people in wheelchairs or wearing sunglasses and hugging a stick—and then watched to see if any of them triggered his Spidey senses. Years of practice conning people had made both him and Sam experts on spotting it in others. He couldn't be sure, of course, but he spied three or four people in the crowd that seemed likely to be plants. 

Sure enough, after the dude got done wailing and mumbling as he "spoke in tongues" as the "Spirit moved through him" he called for people that needed healing. Half the crowd erupted into noise, but the first person he selected was one of the ones Dean had spotted—the blind woman. The whole scene played out exactly like he expected, and he made to leave.

"Why are you leaving?" he heard the pastor call out over the din.

Dean paused, unsure if he even wanted to bother engaging the guy. 

The pastor made the decision for him by continuing to talk. "I'm sorry for your loss. But I can't help your brother."

Dean whirled, eyes flashing and hand automatically moving to his gun.

The preacher smirked, and for a second, Dean wondered if the guy was just that good at reading body language. He'd seen Sam pull a similar trick two or three times. 

"If you can't help him, then why does it matter if I leave?" he finally said, slowly easing his defensive stance.

Tilting his head in acknowledgement, Rogers said nothing more as Dean made his exit.

 Armed with new knowledge, Dean would have to resume his research. First thing was to learn more about the woman who had been "healed." His instincts screamed bullshit, but he couldn't afford to be wrong. He found a good spot to wait, and when the service was over he followed the woman. He had to give her credit, she kept up the charade even after she exited the tent. Every few moments she'd stop and look around, an expression of awe on her face. He almost believed it. 

He slipped back into the crowd, keeping a casual distance from the woman as she moved through the parking lot. They wove through the cars, and he realized that she was alone. No one was walking with her, chatting about her newfound sight. Leading her to their car. Damn, he'd been right. It was confirmed when she dug through her purse and pulled out keys that she used to unlock a shitty looking Volvo. Dean just managed to catch the license plate number before she drove out of sight.

Back at his motel, Dean ran the plates, found the woman, and dug deep into her financials. The trail was hard to find, but, now that he knew it was there, he did manage to find it: small, irregular cash payments deposited into her bank account starting six months ago. Never more than $100 at a time, and never more than twice a month. He didn’t think it was enough money to justify lying to so many people, but it wasn't really up to him to judge in this case. For good measure, he also uncovered as much medical history as he could on the lady and was utterly unsurprised to find zero references to blindness in her files. However, he didn't uncover an explicit link between her and the preacher. He was sure he would if he kept looking, but that wasn't important anymore. The guy was a fraud healer, but he still knew something. Dean needed to find out if that something was information that could help Sam.

 The heat of the day was just starting to fade when Dean knocked on the preacher's door. He lived in a nice neighborhood by most people's standards. Dean thought it was mind-numbingly dull, but hey, maybe it was better than it looked. The man didn't even look at Dean when he opened the door, just gestured him into the house. 

"You're psychic," Dean said as he settled himself into an overstuffed chair that was more comfortable than it looked. 

"I am." He sat down on the couch across from Dean.

"And a fraud. Is your name even John Rogers?"

Rogers smirked. "You know the answer to that." He leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the couch. "I wasn't lying before. I can't help your brother."

"But you do know something," Dean accused.

The preacher sighed. "I know what's in your head right now—he's  in a coma, dying a slow death. You came here on the slim chance that I was the real deal. Sorry that didn't work out for you."

Strangely enough, Dean believed the guy actually was sorry, but he didn't buy that Rogers didn't know anything else. Sam was the one who could sweet talk witnesses into giving up info, though, so Dean went with his tried and true method when working alone: stony silence with a hint of aggression.

Rogers rolled his eyes. "Fine. I may have heard of something. I didn't look into it—no need for myself—so it may be another wild goose chase." He stood, moving to pour himself a drink from the sidebar. He didn't offer Dean one.

Dean waited as patiently as he could. This guy could be jerking him around for all he knew, but he didn’t think so, and his instincts hadn't been wrong yet. 

With an excessive number of dramatic pauses, he finally told Dean about a spell. It was supposed to be ancient and powerful. Could practically bring people back from the dead. He didn't have much more than that, but he told Dean to look in an old grimoire called The Magus. Dean hadn't heard of it before, but he was sure it would be a bitch to find.

 John considered letting his phone go to voicemail until he saw that it was Bobby calling. There were a very limited number of reasons why that self-righteous dick might be calling him, and he knew better than to think Bobby would leave that sort of news in a voicemail. He took a deep breath, burying his grief as far as he could before he flipped open the phone. “Winchester.”

Bobby’s gruff voice didn’t sound devastated, just annoyed, and John breathed a little easier. It wasn’t Sam then. “You need to get your ass back here, John. Dean needs you.”

“Dean doesn’t want me there.” It hurt to admit that, but he couldn’t blame his son. When the demon had possessed him, he’d seen its plans for Sam, and it had been a confirmation of everything he’d learned over the last twenty years. He hadn’t told Dean what he knew, and if John had his way then Dean would never know.

Bobby grumbled, “His brother’s dying. Of course he wants you here. Now, I don’t know what damn fool thing you said, and I don’t care. He’s going after The Magus, John. Says there’s some spell in it should be able to heal Sam.”

John felt his jaw clench so hard he thought he might have cracked a tooth. “He’s going to get himself killed trying to do a spell like that.”

“Why the hell do you think I’m calling you? Boy’s aiming to commit suicide by magic, if he can find the book. If we find it first, then maybe I can convince him to let me do the spell, but we both know that’s a long shot too.” Bobby sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where we might find a medieval grimoire, do you?”

John closed his eyes. “No, but I’ll work it out. I’ll call when I’ve got something. Watch out for Dean.” He didn’t wait to hear Bobby’s reply before he hung up. The man was probably just going to chew him out for not agreeing to head to Sioux Falls immediately.

He looked out the window and saw storm clouds blowing in off Lake Michigan. Dean hadn’t backed off like he should’ve, and now John was going to have to act. He couldn’t let the demon’s plans come to fruition, and he wasn’t going to let Sam suffer because of their selfishness. It was the least he could do. The room blurred as the first drops of rain fell, and John started to work out what could be done to stop Dean.

 It had been two weeks of spinning their wheels looking for the grimoire, and they were no closer to the book than they had been originally. Dean flipped through one of Bobby’s books, frowning at the page. This one seemed familiar. A glance at the spine revealed why. He’d read it already. Twice. Sighing in frustration he tossed the book onto the “dud” stack and slumped in his seat, hands tugging at his hair.

They couldn’t afford to take much longer. Sam was deteriorating. The doctor had told him that just this morning; she’d said that the machines could probably keep him going indefinitely, but everything that made him Sam would be gone. It wasn’t a reality Dean was ready to face, and he’d stalked out of the hospital, not even staying for his usual bitchfest at the broken AC in Sam’s room. Just remembering it made anger—fear—coil tightly in the pit of his stomach, and he stood, sweeping the desk clear of the stacks of useless backs, a wordless scream escaping his throat.

Bobby walked in, holding two beers, and he surveyed the mess. Quirking an eyebrow at Dean, he said, “Take a break.”

Dean just stared back incredulously. “I don’t have time to take a break. Sam—”

“Is dying.” Bobby’s tone wasn’t harsh, but Dean flinched anyway. “I know. But you’re no good to him like this. We been through these books twice each, and we’ve got squat. So, go outside, take a break. Work on that car of yours for a bit and burn off some of that anger. Maybe something’ll come to you. I seem to remember cracking a case or two that way. Keep my hands busy enough to turn off my brain, but the problem still gets worked in the background.” He handed over one of the beers as Dean sulked past him to go outside.

He didn’t go to the Impala. Though he’d worked on her off and on for weeks now, it was always a painful reminder of what was happening to Sam. Today he wasn’t sure he could stand to see the wreck without falling apart, and he wasn’t allowed to fall apart until Sam was better. That had always been his rule when Sam was hurt or sick, and he clung to it now like a lifeline. Turning toward the back of the property instead, he started walking, already feeling better despite himself.

He had just reached the edge of the junkyard when his phone rang.

Dean stared at the caller ID in disbelief for a moment before answering. His dad was calling him, after weeks of radio silence. After abandoning Sam to die. He felt his rage reignite, but he kept his tone neutral as he answered. "Dad."

"Dean. I told you to leave it alone."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it, Bobby. "This is Sam, Dad. Not some random civilian. How can you just let him die like he means nothing? Where the hell are you?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you." Dean listened to his dad's sigh and rolled his eyes. The man could be a worse drama queen than Sam sometimes.

"Really? That's the answer you're going with?" Dean shook his head in disgust. "Guess Sam was right after all. You really don't give two shits about this family. It's all about your damn revenge."

"That's not fair, Dean." His tone was biting, cold. "Sam chose not to end this fight when he had the chance, and now I have to before the demon hurts anyone else."

Dean scoffed. He could hardly believe they were related. “Is that what this is about? Punishing me for telling Sam not to kill you? Or punishing him for listening?”

There was silence over the line for a long minute before John said, “That’s not why I left, Dean.” More silence. "I might have a lead on the grimoire you need. See you at Bobby's in two days." The phone beeped as John hung up without saying goodbye.

When he collapsed, sobbing, against a rusted-out Honda a minute later, he wasn’t even sure if they were tears of joy or grief.

 The lights flickered.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean said, settling into the seat by his brother. "Think I might have something promising, and Dad's helping."

Nothing. He glanced around the room. 

"Come on, man, don't be a bitch about it. I know you can hear me."

A cool breeze ruffled his hair.

"Because your lights flicker a thousand times whenever I talk to you. Which, by the way, cut it out. One of these days you're going to short out something important and croak. Also, because it's July and ten degrees colder in your room than the morgue. I feel bad for your nurses."

A gentle thump on his shoulder. Son of a bitch. Sam wasn't supposed to be able to touch him. Dean watched his brother's body on the bed and thought about just how much stronger he'd become over the last few weeks. It was a bad sign. He hadn't told Bobby or his dad about the fact that Sam was apparently haunting his hospital room. He already knew what they would say.

What's dead should stay dead.

"You aren't dead yet. And I'm not giving up on you." He stood and stormed out of the room before Sam could get another word in.

 John got out of his truck, but didn’t approach the house. Dean and Bobby were waiting for him on the porch, and Bobby had brought his shotgun out. It was easy to read the tension in Dean's shoulders, the anger simmering just under the surface. Christ, Dean had no idea how bad it was going to get, and he was already this mad. John was going to lose both of his sons today. 

The spell he’d faked was in his pocket, and he hated himself for what he was doing. But he was careful not to let his face betray him. Years of hustling poker successfully had taught him that his poker face was the best, and he relied on that skill now. Dean wasn't going to stop, that was clear now, so John had to be the one to make the hard choice.

For one dizzy, terrifying moment, he considered backing out and trying to help them find the grimoire. Then he thought of the demon, still out there and still planning. A demon that wanted to start the Apocalypse and use his son to lead an army of darkness. He didn't know how the demon intended to make Sam cooperate, but it didn't matter. He trusted that the demon would succeed eventually, probably by threatening Dean. There was only one sure way to save Sam from that fate, and this was it. His resolve hardened, and he resigned himself to Dean hating him forever. Knowing Sam was safe would be worth it. Maybe someday Dean would understand, even if John knew Dean would never be able to forgive him for this. 

"Dean," he said, voice gruff. He nodded at Bobby, but kept his eyes on his son. 

"Where have you been?" Dean demanded, his voice hard. He sounded grown up. Good. 

John put an easy smile on his face, trying to diffuse some of the tension in the air, but it didn't reach his eyes. He knew Dean saw that, too, so he let it drop after a moment. "I was following some leads."

"You were hunting the demon. While Sam is laying in a hospital, dying."

"We've had this argument already."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "So? He's still dying, you're still hunting, and I'm still here, trying to put my family back together! At least tell me what this mysterious lead is."

John steeled himself, and reached into his back pocket. "It's not the whole grimoire, but I was told this came from The Magus. Sounds like something you might be interested in."

Dean eyed him warily, and John couldn't blame him. He'd flipped on this issue fast, and that had to have raised some alarm bells for Dean. It was no surprise Dean didn't trust him. Still, the boy was desperate. He accepted the fragile parchment, unfolding it and scanning the text. Dean couldn't read it, unless he had been studying archaic Greek lately, but John knew Dean would be able to piece together a basic idea of the spell just from the components. It was something he'd drilled them on, to help protect them from witches. 

Dean nodded to Bobby, and down went the shotgun barrel. John breathed a little easier at that. He never doubted that Bobby was willing to shoot him, especially after how they’d parted a few years back. With what he was about to pull, he probably deserved it, too.

"Come in, then, if you're staying," Bobby said, turning and walking back inside.

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, then joined Bobby. 

John lingered by his truck a moment more before following, grief already pooling in his chest.

 Bobby translated the spell while Dean sorted through their inventory of ingredients. More than once the old hunter added a location to the ingredient he read aloud, and Dean would make a run to the kitchen or the basement or the second guest bedroom, in the bottom box next to the dresser, wherever the item happened to be stashed in this old, cluttered house. John had grabbed a beer and puttered around for a few minutes, obviously uncomfortable, before saying he was going to the hospital and would meet them there. 

It felt like a miracle that they already had all the ingredients, and Dean said so after he retrieved the salamander tail and Bobby declared it the last ingredient. It was a surprisingly benign looking assortment of items, and it didn't seem possible to Dean that they could heal his brother. He believed in magic, obviously, but he always associated it with blood and entrails. It seemed, well, magical that a few bits and pieces in the right ratios could do something so powerful. It was weirder that his dad had brought him the spell. He'd been so adamant about letting nature take its course, and Dean wondered what had brought him around. A thought crossed his mind, and his skin crawled. He idly touched the top of one of the jars and said tentatively, "Does this seem too easy to you?"

Bobby looked up from the spell in front of him, eyes narrowed at Dean. "What are you thinking?"

Dean gave one quick shake of his head as he frowned, saying, "Nothing. Just." He shrugged a shoulder and looked out the window. "It's just like Dad to swoop in at the last minute and save the day. But. It's a weird way for him to do it, you know?"

Bobby nodded. "I never expected your daddy to be the one bringing spells here for us to cast, if that's what you mean."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Does it check out?"

Hesitating before he spoke, Bobby hemmed and hawed before saying, "I don't know. I've never seen a spell like this, and I've sure as hell never cast one. I can tell you that it looks like it ought to work, if I understand it right, but there's no way to know for sure without trying it."

"That just fills me with confidence, Bobby."

"Hey, you asked. You have a better option?"

Dean grunted. "You know I don't."

"I know you've got something in reserve, just in case." Bobby leveled him a look that told Dean he wasn't going to be able to hide behind denials.

Dean swallowed hard. "I do, but it's not a better option."

Bobby nodded, slowly, but didn't say anything.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm not sure I can make it work without killing someone."

The tension in the air was palpable, and Bobby's eyes were hard. "I know he's your brother, Dean, but—"

"I know. God, Bobby, I know." He scrubbed a hand down his face and closed his eyes. "I would though. If it came to it, then I would." 

"But?"

Dean shook his head, not willing to say that he promised his brother's ghost that he wouldn't. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to let Sam go if this spell didn't work, and he wasn't sure he had the time it would take to pull the other spell together. 

 When Dean and Bobby arrived at the hospital, John was sitting in the chair by Sam's bed. Dean frowned, noting the overgrown stubble on Sam's chin. They hadn't been by to shave him yet, which meant it was more likely they were going to get interrupted. At best, that would lead to a number of awkward questions, and at worst it could disrupt the spell. He mentioned it, but John scoffed.

"It'll be fine, Dean. The nurse was just in to check on him, and she said she would be back in an hour. No interruptions until then."

Dean frowned but didn't argue. If John thought they were safe to do the spell then they probably were. 

Bobby was the most experienced of them with spell work, so he did the spell. Dean watched him like a hawk, stomach flipping nervously the whole time. John's face was grim, but he stayed silent, letting Bobby work. The foreign words droned on, and Bobby added a pinch of this, a jar of that, then more chanting. Dean could feel the energy in the room building, and his eyes darted to Sam. The monitors showed no change, of course, but the lights flickered aggressively as the chanting picked up speed. Dean silently begged Sam to cool it, to keep calm until the spell did its thing. 

It's not going to work, Dean.

Dean set his jaw. It had to work. Not working wasn't an option.

Please, let me go.

He glared at his brother. That wasn't an option either, not while Dean was still breathing. He wasn't going to fail Sam. Not when Sam had come through for him last year.

His brother sighed, and he could imagine the epic eye roll that accompanied it. You're going to be so pissed at Dad when this doesn't work.

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at his brother again. The air was cooling rapidly, not a great sign for Sam's mental health at the moment. But his dad and Bobby seemed oblivious, and with the way the energy swirled through the air, he knew the spell was almost done.

Bobby threw in the last ingredient, and there was a flash, a bang, and the building energy funneled into the center of the room before quietly dissipating. It was...underwhelming. 

Dean looked at Sam, at the monitors and held his breath, waiting for any sign at all that he was waking up. There was nothing. If anything, Dean thought the vitals readout was worse than before. Sam was breathing too fast, heartbeat too rapid for someone peacefully asleep. 

He turned on the other two in the room. "Why didn't it work? We had all the ingredients, right, Bobby?" 

Bobby looked stricken, but he nodded. "I read it exactly as it was written. You know I wouldn't half-ass this."

Dean clamped down on his anger as best he could. He did know. Sometimes spells just didn't work. Maybe Bobby wasn't powerful enough. Maybe they needed a real witch to cast the spell. 

Then John said, "You knew this was a long shot at best," and Dean gaped at him.

He understood, on some level, that this was John trying to be supportive. His dad had never been an emotional guy, never one to soothe with words. But this felt like he was writing Sam off all over again. Sam was dying, actively now, and John just...didn't care. Dean didn't understand and didn't want to understand. He wanted his dad to be devastated by this.

Where did you get that spell anyway? It sounded like someone cobbled a bunch of random garbage together and called it finished. The tenses didn't even match through most of it.

That's when Dean put it together. 

"You did this, didn't you?" he said, voice frigid and too calm. "You did something to the spell. That's why you didn't bring the book. Not some bullshit about it being too closely guarded in a library or not wanting to set off some crap alarms. You've never had a problem breaking and entering before." Dean shook his head furiously. "I didn't see it before. I didn't want to. But Sam was always right, wasn't he? He never mattered as much to you as the hunt. As getting revenge for Mom. And now you killed him." Dean closed his eyes, unable to even look at John anymore. "Why? Because he didn't take the shot in that cabin?"

When John finally spoke, his voice was brittle. "I know you won't be able to hear this now, Dean, but it was never like that. Someday, I hope you'll understand. This was for the best."

"Get out," Dean said, watching Sam's chest shallowly rise with each breath. He hoped John could hear the threat under the words. 

An hour later, Dean watched as Sam struggled to breathe. There was no more time to pull together that spell. John had been thorough. Bobby had gone home, looking for the binding spell at Dean's desperate request, but it was gone from Dean's research pile. Worse, he'd signed the papers to remove Sam from life support before they'd even done the stupid spell. According to the hospital, that meant Dean could do exactly nothing, despite the fact that John hadn't shown his face in the hospital for weeks and Dean had been visiting Sam daily.  He felt hollow, wondering what life would be like without his brother at his side. He thought it might be like when Sam was at Stanford: hunting alone or with the occasional hunter acquaintance. He resolutely ignored the burning in his eyes, even as Sam's body blurred in front of him. It wasn't going to be like that. Maybe once in a while he would be able to forget, to fool himself into believing Sam was alive and safe and just away, but most of the time he would know. He imagined the passenger seat of the Impala, empty again. His heart clenched. 

Sam was already gone, and he knew that. The body on the bed had been empty since the first time he'd seen the lights in this room flicker. Sam had been haunting him for weeks. They were just waiting for it to be official. 

The monitor screeched, jerking Dean's attention up and away from Sam. His breath caught in his throat; Sam was flat-lining. A doctor that had been lurking outside the door quietly came in and turned off the alarm. She checked Sam's vitals manually, checked the time, and announced that Sam had died at 2:48 pm. It was quiet, efficient. Dean didn't understand how she could do that, just say a person—Sam—was dead, and then continue on with her day like the world hadn't ended. 

 Dean refused Bobby's offer to help build the pyre. This was his job. And if it took a little longer because he was working alone, so much the better. He lifted the body wrapped in white linen. His brother. He lifted his brother, and placed him on the pyre. 

Hours later, Dean stared at the burning pyre, numb to all feeling. He'd failed. The hollow pit in his stomach threatened to turn to nausea as he watched Sam burn. The gentle thump against his arm that alerted him to Sam's continued ghostly presence just made the sick feeling grow. John was going to pay for this.

[hawkland]

Dear Fandom5k Author

My AO3 account (sidewinder)

Hello and thank you for writing for me! I’m excited to give this exchange a try for the first time and cannot wait to read what you can come up with for one of my requests. Please note I’d love any of them equally, no matter if I have more prompt ideas for one or the other. Some I seriously would love just about anything about since they are so rare, others I have more specific requests to scratch itches I haven’t seen written before (or that much.)

General Likes:

Soumates with a twist. I love soulmate/soulbond AUs, as long as it’s just not a shortcut to happily-ever, no-conflict fluff. I want there to be some difficulties or angst involved. For instance, I’d love seeing any fusion/inspired-by fics based off the concept of the AMC Soumates series - where there’s a newly-developed scientific test a person can choose to take to find their soulmate (if the other person out there has also taken the test). That way it’s a choice to find out or not. Would an already established couple want to take the test to find out if they’re really “meant” to be together or not? What if they find out other people are their “soulmates”? What about the possibility of platonic soulmates vs romantic? Discussions for the future if/when one partner dies before the other? I’d love to see these questions played out with one of my fave ships in either a  happy or somewhat angsty/dark way.

Vacation/travel stories. Being unable to travel this past year+ thanks to covid-19 has me desperate to explore and live vicariously through my favorite characters! So I’d love a story involving travel to somewhere new (to them). It could be a romantic getaway/honeymoon trip to somewhere special - and I love it when an author “takes me” to a favorite city/place of their own. Or two friends just going on an escapade together, maybe one sensing the other needs some time away from a stressful situation or workplace.

Smutty likes: I love extended kissing scenes, frottage, light restraint play, sharing-one-bed-for-~reasons~-ooops-how-did-we-wake-up-cuddling, bathing/caretaking an injured partner-turns-erotic, desperate/reunion sex.

Canon-divergent AUs - I’m always good with fix-its, shifts in canon that only change one thing and see what happens next or instead.

Do Not Wants:

A/B/O dynamics, mating heats. (I do like Supernatural fics that explore Castiel and the angels having bird-like behaviors and instincts, however.)

animal abuse/death

anything related to pregnancy/childbirth/kidfic (except for Jack in SPN)

formalized BDSM relationships

scat/watersports

unrequested alternative-universe scenarios such as high school/mundane/genderswap/coffee shop/fantasy/etc. There are a few ships/groups where I would enjoy specific AUs, and those are outlined below.

Completely sad endings/permanent character death or injury that isn’t part of canon

Rape/non-con between requested characters. Dubious consent is fine in situations like magic spells/possession/fuck-or-die, however.

Supernatural

AU - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Fix-it fic, Interpersonal Drama, Smut, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding, Horror

In general for SPN, I love canon-divergence AUs at pretty much any point in time (especially as they kept having so many dumb reasons in canon to keep Dean & Cas apart just when one or the other seriously needed support or TLC!) I’m okay with post-series Heaven fics as well as canon fix-its/completely ignoring the finale, and I like exploring both human!Cas as endgame or Cas keeping/getting his full angelic grace back (which is a slight preference to me, as he repeatedly seemed to genuinely value/want to be an angel? But exploring all possibilities in fic is cool for me.)

I’m a sucker for Castiel Whump/hurt!Cas in general, so long as the author remembers Cas is a bad ass and not just a baby in a trenchcoat. If he’s going to suffer, I want him to suffer stoically until he just cannot keep up the facade any longer.  

SPN-specific DNWs: mentions/implications of Wincest, past or present; extreme bashing/characterization of John and Mary Winchester, or Jimmy Nowak, as homophobic. 

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Give me all the finale fix-it fics - no I’m still not over it, I’m still happy to read any new twist on how Cas got out of the Empty and got back together with Dean (and Sam). If Dean still dies early/ends up in Heaven, I’d like a story that explores what happens when one gets bored of peace-and-happiness-ever-after. (Yes, I’m a big fan of The Good Place and as such it makes me wonder if eternity with no conflict and everything you could ever want would just melt your brain and identity after a few millennia.) So what then?

I’m also stealing a Tumblr rant as a prompt I’d love to read, if you want to get into some good dirty smut:

ive had it up to here with fictional gays being like “i love you and if all i can ever have is that knowledge it’s enough for me” we need more “i have been struck down by horny insanity and i beg you to fuck me once. i’ve had three smirnoff ices and i’m gonna be crazy now. we can pretend it didn’t happen i don’t give a shit just gimme daddy’s blunt instrument” it’s more realistic [x]

Um so yeah. I’d love an au where, anywhere along the line when it’s been their/someone’s/the universe’s life on the life, Cas takes the initiative decides they’re gonna have crazy sex even if it’s just once before the end of the world/we die. But then, oops, we’ve survived, now we have to deal with it. ...Please?

For something different, maybe more romantic/fluffy, I’d really love a vacation/getaway story here, since they never really got anything like that of substance on the show. I want to see Cas take Dean somewhere beautiful and amazing in the world he’s never gotten to see before. Show him there’s more than just greasy diners and the landscape of America to enjoy and experience. If you want, they could stumble on a case/haunting/monster from another part of the world while they’re at it...but I just really want to see Dean having some mind-opening and expanding experiences beyond what’s he’s known and seen so far in life.

In specific with Cas/Dean + Sam, I love another tumblr idea I saw recently where Sam totally keeps bringing up the idea of “Sastiel” as a fun joke between him and Cas, and Cas plays along, and it drives Dean up the wall. Cas has to just keep re-assuring Dean that no, he doesn’t see Sam that way...but why does it bother Dean so much? A.k.a. Dean has to finally own up to the fact that it bothers him because he wants Cas to feel that way about him.

Castiel (Supernatural)

I just love Cas, period, end of story, he’s my One True Character of SPN. I love any stories that try to explore him more fully—be it his relationships in the past with other angels and being a BAMF commander/warrior of Heaven, or what specifically it is that keeps him so tied to the Winchesters. I love stories that feature his true-form in some fashion or try to dig into the alien/different nature of angels vs. humans.

Also, another Tumblr-musing-turned-prompt (I lost who posted it, sorry!) I'd love to see explored in a canon divergence fic focused on Cas. Specifically: 

"I would have loved an arc for Cas (after he got his grace back) where he wanted to help people, like he was helped. Spending time in soup kitchens or healing people, and through that developing a sense of self purpose, leading to his grace replenishing unexpectedly. Sort of fulfilling the traditional angel role (as we know it nowadays) by replacing his faith in heaven/dean with faith in himself, to redefine himself as a protector of humanity instead of heaven's soldier."

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Jimmy Novak Group: Castiel & Jimmy Novak

We know Cas carried a lot of guilt for what happened to Jimmy and his whole family. So I'm interested in a post-finale, canon-compliant (I guess?) fic where Cas tries to reconcile things with Jimmy in Heaven. Maybe Jimmy & Amelia were one of his first "projects" or test cases in trying to build a new and better Heaven with Jack? (And it's what he was so busy with while Dean was still alive.) Or, is it weird in Heaven with Cas and Jimmy looking so similar? Does Cas still fight doubts as to whether Dean really loves him, or just desires this body/form that isn’t his own?

Otherwise, I've been thinking about Endverse!Cas, who had lost his grace/powers as the angels have all left and abandoned humankind. What happened to/where is Jimmy in all of that? (If we go by the canon that Jimmy was not killed, nor went to Heaven, until the end of Season 5, when Lucifer blew up that vessel and Cas was resurrected by Chuck.) Are they now two "mortal men"/souls trapped sharing one body? Is that why Cas is so messed up/always seeking an escape through drugs and sex? (Besides of course Dean having changed so much.) This is one prompt where I don’t mind a very dark/not-so-happily-ever-after ending.

The Police

Angst, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Humor, Interpersonal Drama, Smut

Group: Sting/Stewart Copeland

Yeah I’ll always request these two together even though I know it’s a long shot to find anyone else as obsessed about them as I am. Really anything at all whatsoever would make me happy for this ship: Reunion Tour-era fic, early punk days before they grew successful, soulmate AUs...

I’d also love a spooky story where they’re on tour/on the road somewhere and end up in a haunted hotel. Or their tour bus/van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and they have to seek shelter in an abandoned house or farm or something...and supernatural weirdness ends up affecting them or bringing them together.

If you want to go the crack route: it wasn’t enough for Miles to take them all around the world to tour in “exotic” locations back in the day. He’s arranged for them now to go on the ultimate tour...of outer space and alien worlds.

Crossover Fandom

Action/Adventure, Character Development, Interpersonal Drama, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural

Group: Abe Morgan (Forever TV) & John Munch (L&O: SVU)

I’ve had a long running headcanon that these two could have been friends back in their respective 60s/early 70s hippie days. I’d love either a story set back then, “pre-canon”, or them running into each other in NYC later in life. Munch ending up in Abe’s antique shop, for instance, while on an investigation?  

Group: Dean Winchester (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone) Group: Castiel (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone)

I’m fascinated by the idea of crossing over these two canons. Even if there’s some conflict in their approach to Hell/Lucifer/demons, there’s still a lot in common. Dean & Ezekiel having both put in their time in Hell and being demon hunters, for instance, and their complicated relationships with (fallen) angels. I’d love to see them bonding over their experiences (Maybe they even meet in Hell? Time DOES work differently there…) Maybe somehow after Ezekiel completed his mission for the Devil, he did get his second chance at “life on Earth”…but the devil’s trick is that it’s not HIS Earth, it’s in a different dimension (Supernatural’s). I’m also curious how Ezekiel might respond to Castiel as an angel–perhaps he mistakes Cas for a demon at first, with his powers, but then they realize they are in fact hunting the same demon? Cas is stuck in an alternative dimension and recognizes Ezekiel as a similar soul to Dean’s, and seeks out his help?

Basically I’d love some kind of casefic/demon hunt here, with the characters bonding over their shared/similar past traumas, taking care of each other when/if injured on a hunt, and/or perhaps helping them sort out their complicated feelings for another (ie, background Cas/Dean and/or Zeke/the Devil are TOTALLY welcome here, as I ship both of those ships.)

Law & Order: SVU

Group: John Munch/Odafin "Fin" Tutuola

Character Development, Established Relationship, Humor, Getting Together, Interpersonal Drama, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, AU-Genre shift

Munch/Fin is one of my eternal OTPs so I’m always happy to see something new featuring them! I’m always good for procedural/case-fics. And this is one request where I’d love to read some AU-Genre or setting shift, reimagining the two in some other situations besides police work. I’ve always loved the idea of John hosting a conspiracy/weird news radio show or podcast, and Fin as someone completely skeptical but who gets wrapped up in one of John’s mysteries. Or John as the owner of a bar somewhere that Fin is one of his regulars, and over time their friendship develops/deepens into something more.

Supernatural RPF

Misha Collins/Jensen Ackles Established Relationship, Getting Together, Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Humor

It’s odd for me to be into an actor RPF fandom (I usually only fall for music/band-related ones), but what can I say...these two just make it almost impossible not to see the possibilities!

I was thinking I’d love something set post-Supernatural...their first time seeing each other again after a long time apart? (What with the show ending, covid, Misha’s surgery, etc etc.) Could be at a convention or maybe they get to go off on a getaway together somewhere private/romantic and it’s...kind of tense and maybe nervous/angsty at first? Like with doubts about whether they can/should go back to the way things were before.

Or: putting tin-hatty speculation about the “secret/real identity” of Alma Perpetua aside, I love their poetry and I’d love any “Cockles” fic using one of their poems as inspiration.

[summerspn]

Gilmore Girls

Lorelai & Her Parents

At 16 Lorelai was rebellious against anything her parents did or said & she’s the same way even in Year in the Life where she’s in her late 40’s. She has zero open communication with her mom...still.

She never listens to her parents, avoids their calls, tries to get her daughter to be the go between on several occasions.

Lorelai whines, bitches & moans about her parents being the root of all evil. The way she talks we would expect them to be Joseph Stalin (a comparison she made herself in that magazine interview about the Inn).

However, we never see or hear anything that bad about her parents. Nothing unforgivable. They’re just normal loving parents who have strong opinions & are sometimes pushy.

Lorelai gave birth to Rory when she was 16. No parent would be thrilled at the idea their child just made their lives considerably more challenging for themselves. Parents generally want their kids to have better lives than they had.

In flashbacks we see Richard & Emily being good parents. Posh & proper they took parent in lots of events & rituals Lorelai didn’t like. Such as sitting for a portrait & wearing fancy dresses etc

Lorelai’s seen joking with Christopher & in good spirits. She’s not traumatized or being abused in any way.

We never see them being cruel, angry, or abusive to her. They definitely wanted her to follow suit. To do what they say...to listen...and to learn from them.

Lorelai rejected all of that. She’s not good at any of those things.

However they still seemed like good parents. Great even.

When they realize Lorelai’s pregnant they are shocked & disappointed. Immediately they jump into protective mode. Richard suggests helping Chris join the family & the kids could get married... his attempt to salvage her reputation. He knows how cruel people can be especially from the upper class elites whom of which can be petty.

Both Richard & Emily want to fix the mistake so they jump in. Christopher even said he wanted to marry Lorelai & he seemed excited about having the baby. Lorelai just looked annoyed at all of it.

We also see that she pushes them away again & again.

When she goes to the hospital alone they rush to be by her side. And she still acts annoyed. They wanted to help someone they love & she was annoyed!

In the flashbacks we see that Lorelai & baby Rory were living with Richard & Emily for at least a few weeks. Her parents seemed to be okay with the living situation.

A nice house, no rent, all expenses paid, and they mentioned a nanny...to which Lorelai felt she had to escape. What??

Seriously, she wanted zero help from everyone & anyone. That’s not just being independent that’s being blinded by pride.

And after her parents did everything for her, Lorelai runs away with baby Rory.

That’s completely selfish. I could imagine how painful that would be for her parents.

To make matters worse, it’s said several times in the early part of the series that Emily never got to see how Lorelai raised Rory...and that they barely ever got see or talk to Rory when she was little.

In fact, the first interaction we see of Rory & her grandparents it’s like Rory doesn’t know them. It’s like they’re being introduced to each other.

So...basically Lorelai didn’t try to have her parents involved in Rory’s life. She didn’t encourage a relationship with them - that is so incredibly spiteful & selfish.

When Emily finally meets the owner of the Independence Inn we see that she was upset about all that missing time. She didn’t have pictures of Lorelai or Rory during that time. It’s so...sad.

Season one has Rory getting into Chilton & it’s an excuse for her parents to get involved in their lives. They see it as an opportunity to get to know Rory. They pay for Chilton in exchange for Friday night dinners.

Even though they made a deal & Lorelai gave her word to have weekly dinners with her parents she still tries throughout the series to get out of them. It’s so rude & she’s so ungrateful.

Lorelai always whines about the dinners. But they were good! They get nice food, sit in comfort & have good company. She often looks like she’s having fun but later complains about them. There were only a handful of bad dinners in the series with her parents.

So why did she always complain about them?

Because she’s ungrateful for everything her parents did for her.

Good things Richard & Emily did for Lorelai:

* They raised her in a loving, stable home

* She had a good education

* They taught her good morals

* She was always fed & taken care of

* They tried to help when she was pregnant & provided support once the baby was born

* In season 1, Lorelai hurts her back & Emily takes care of her

* They paid for Chilton & Yale

* Their only request (or as Lorelai called it they ‘demanded’) to spend time with their daughter & grand daughter in exchange for the schools’ tuition.

* Despite not being invited by their daughter (because Lorelai assumes they wouldn’t want to go), both Richard & Emily attend Lorelai’s college graduation as the proudest parents in the world.

* They bought Rory an over the top high school graduation gift- a car- to which Lorelai barely thanked them.

* Richard taught Rory to golf & showed her around the country club.

* Richard was a mentor for a school project of Rory’s

* Emily encouraged Rory several times to make friends with her classmates

* Emily encouraged school involvement to help make those friends & for college. She stated something along the lines that it would help for everything.

* They remain friendly with Christopher (Rory’s father) even though he’s rarely around & they don’t like the fact he & Lorelai never got married. They know it’s important to be civil as he’s Rory’s father & they hope eventually the situation would improve.

* Emily is super nice to Jess upon their first meeting even though she thinks Rory is too good for him. She kept her opinion to herself, except when she had a private conversation with Lorelai.

* Emily helps Rory navigate parties & the DAR, making sure her grand daughter would be prepared for life of the upper society instead of leaving her to flounder.

* Emily prints out a list of tips for ways in which Rory can avoid getting stabbed in prison (during her community service)

* Richard defends Rory’s honour when he realizes Mitchum Huntzberger had upset her.

* Likewise Emily gives a great verbal thrashing to Shira Huntzberger in response to the woman having humiliated Rory

* Even when he’s not speaking with Lorelai, Richard helps take care of the insurance at the Dragonfly Inn.

* There were lots of warm family exchanges between them & Rory. Some warm exchanges between them & Lorelai too.

* When Rory ran to her grandparents, breaking down & basically begged them for help, they gave it to her. They took care of her.

* When Rory got arrested they never gave her a hard time or judged. They tried to help.

* They were still open to Logan being in Rory’s life even though his parents treated her poorly.

Not so good moments of theirs:

* Richard breaks business ties with Digger, going behind his back & working for his father

* Richard manipulates the situation so that while visiting Yale Rory has a meeting with the dean

* Emily throws the Yale (boys) party to try to get Rory to meet someone new as she’s too good for Dean (it worked, because she was too good for him)

* When they feared for Rory’s ‘virtue’. Old fashioned, yes. They felt her being a virgin until marriage was the way to go so they set up an awkward dinner with a pastor to talk sense into her. Good intentions but it was none of their business.

People have a lot of opinions about who was responsible for the rift between Lorelai & her parents.

What I think is this:

When Lorelai ran away with baby Rory, it was her fault. She took off, pushed them away & refused help.

Being rich & powerful, they could have won custody. All they had to do was get a private investigator to take pictures of the shed Lorelai & Rory were living in. Prove that Lorelai (who refused help from anyone) left Rory alone while she cleaned rooms at the Independence Inn.

It would be easy for them.

However, they didn’t do that. They actually gave Lorelai space & took what scraps of contact she was willing to give.

During the series (even with nothing triggering it) Lorelai pushes her parents away, bad mouths them, constantly hides big life events from them (her college graduation, not one but TWO engagements! , etc)...and she humiliated Emily by giving that mean interview about her when she should have talked about the Dragonfly Inn.

However, when Richard betrayed Digger, that caused tension. When he forced Rory to talk to the Yale Dean, it caused a rift. Not approving of Luke caused tension but they still supported Lorelai even though they didn’t like him.

Supporting Rory’s decision to drop out of school was huge. They supported her, thinking it was the right thing. Then Richard laid it out for Lorelai (because Rory was too chicken shit to stand up for her mom more than once a year 🤷‍♀️) .

It was what Rory wanted but Lorelai felt it was all her parents’ fault, which wasn’t true.

Emily even tried to encourage Rory to talk to Lorelai a few times. Finally getting through to her with the invitations to her birthday party.

And Lorelai showed up to the party & acted like she wanted to kill them. Emily asked how Luke was & Lorelai jumped down her throat...and of course that was when we realized that again Lorelai didn’t tell her parents she was going to marry Luke.

Another knife wound.

Emily & Richard are critical but they also learn & evolve. They both are pragmatic so while Emily was underhanded in inviting Christopher to the vow renewal, I get it. Emily wanted to see if she can piece the family back together - choosing one of the few times where she’s getting along with Lorelai. She probably thought that if he saw Lorelai at a wedding he’d want to marry her & vice versa. Kill two birds with one stone.

Yes it was shitty because Lorelai was with Luke; however, if that had been a healthy relationship (there were lots of issues) it wouldn’t have imploded the way it did. Later when the two have a healthier relationship both Richard & Emily are more accepting of Luke.

Even during Emily’s emotional breakdown where she wanted to buy that plane she suggested that Lorelai & Luke can use it - showing at that point she’d accepted the relationship.

So who was to blame for the rift?

Both...but mostly Lorelai.

While I can understand the argument that she had been raised in a way she didn’t like, you can’t place blame on that.

Lorelai felt suffocated at 16 but she didn’t just need space, she wanted to cruelly ditch her parents.

You definitely can’t blame her parents for the way she acted towards them at 30-something. Because adults are responsible for themselves. You have issues with someone? Talk! Communicate! Even if that involves arguing.

Suck it up, address the issues then figure out how to fix it.

I feel like Emily & Richard did this a lot. They struggled sometimes but eventually they worked things out. But Lorelai kept pushing them away & shut them out of her life.

Even in Year in the Life. She still resented her father so much that she couldn’t remember a single good memory about him at the funeral. Then she acted angry at Emily when she was upset. Emily had every right to be.

They go to therapy because after all these years they can’t talk to each other. Still. Well, we know Emily is very vocal so who could be to blame? Perhaps the fact Lorelai was keeping her therapy from Luke was a bit telling.

In any case, whomever you blame for the problems, I think we all can agree it would have been nice if the show had more flashbacks so we can see why Lorelai resented and (at times) hated her parents.

Nothing I saw in the series was enough to be that angry with them & to run away or barely see them in 16 years. Were they stifling? Yes. Controlling? A little bit but parents often are. Annoying? Yes.

Abusive, cruel, mean, neglectful? No, no, no, and no.

In my family, we talk & occasionally yell. We don’t have to like what each other is doing but hey that’s family. But we do try to talk. Sometimes things come up that annoys us but we deal with it.

Lorelai’s family wasn’t perfect. That’s fine, but why wouldn’t she want to see them? Why would she take a situation about her neurotic mother & think it was funny to tell perfect strangers & to compare herself to a murdering dictator?

You have to be pretty heartless to do that...even if Lorelai didn’t realize it would be in print. I don’t care how annoyed I get I would NEVER talk about my parents like that.

So, why does Lorelai? What happened to her that she thinks this is okay? What (if any) shady things did her parents do to deserve something like that?

I wish the show could have shown us because the absence of information just feels like Lorelai is cruel & vindictive

I personally think Lorelai just never grew up. She acts immature even in later seasons so I believe she has the same mentality as she did when she was 16. She assumes several times the worst about her parents when the were just being straight forward or asking simple questions.

Like, for example, Rory’s invitation to her birthday party. Lorelai assumes it was a manipulation by Emily but her daughter was just reaching out to her. Instead of checking to see if she was actually welcome she - like a child - ignores it & would rather miss Rory’s birthday then deal with 2 minutes of awkwardness on the phone to get clarification. She just assumes there is no possible way she’d ever be wrong. Keep in mind at this point Lorelai is supposed to be around 38.

She’s not a child, she’s not naive nor stupid. She’s merely self involved. She thinks how she thinks, never bends, & can’t possibly comprehend the fact that her parents genuinely love her & try any means in which they can see her & their grand daughter.

In later seasons we can see how heartbroken her parents were still about missing out on Lorelai’s life. Emily starts making suggestions about adding onto the Dragonfly Inn, by having a spa attached. Lorelai brushes it off like it was nothing but Emily was reaching out to her because she was worried she wouldn’t want to do Friday night dinners again.

And we see in season 7, when the girls attend Mia’s wedding that Emily was still upset by the separation all those years ago. She’s civil while trying to hide her pain. Lorelai was completely oblivious to how upset Emily was. Rory points that out & eventually Lorelai actually understands.

Some people aren’t fans of season 7 but I loved that episode because it showed Emily’s vulnerability & pain and we actually got to see some growth between Lorelai & Emily!

Year in the Life completely shit all over that of course.

The series finale was alright regarding how Lorelai is with her parents. They were in a good place & she reassured her mom that Friday night dinners would continue. Meaning, she would still be in their lives.

I had no complaints about that. Though I still wish we saw more about their past.

What I had hoped to see in Year in the Life was a solid relationship with Lorelai & Emily. After all those years, why wouldn’t they have progressed?

We saw hints that when Lorelai would take her head out of her butt, she actually enjoys time with her parents. Such as having fun with Emily at that fashion show.

And a lot of people get annoyed at their family as teenagers but once they’re grown up & moved out, they have a good relationship with them.

I wanted, in the Year in the Life, for Emily & Lorelai to still have their banter but be friendly. Meeting up to shop occasionally & such. But instead they’re still in a bad place? After ten years...really?

Seeing that was exhausting. Even as a 40-something woman Lorelai acted like a spoiled brat. Like a teenager, and her mom then treated her like one. It was stupid & disappointing.

[coldlittlecuties]

Bundle Up

The boys are on an early season 1 hunt in Michigan but aren't quite used to how cold it is. (Words: 2086)

I might continue this if anyone is interested.

Dean shoved Sam through the entrance of the nearest store, the little bell above jingling. The younger hunter was shaking so harshly from the frigid Michigan air that Dean feared it was a seizure. He steered Sam over to the nearest vent, then began brushing off the snow while hot air blew over him.

"You okay?" Dean checked.

"F-F-FFF-F-Fi-Finnne," Sam stuttered.

"You're not fine, you're frozen! The Hell were you thinkin', man?!" Dean scolded. Sam looked at him with the most heart-wrenching puppy eyes he'd ever pulled. Of course him being all huddled up and shivery made it all the more effective.

Dean sighed. He brought his brother's icy hands out from his jacket sleeves to check for frostbite. "Look: I don't care how close you think the library is. When it's this freakin' cold, you call me to pick you up. You don't walk! Man, look at you! You better have all your toes."

"*fffffuhuhuhuhuh* N-N-NN-NN-No-ot th-th-that *buh-buh-buh-buh*bad," Sam denied. He then shuddered so hard Dean had to stop him from falling.

"Yeah, tell that to your teeth," Dean interrupted. "Geez, Sammy! If you're gonna be so underdressed, at least wear gloves."

"D-D-D-Do-on't ha-ha-avvve 'nnnny-y," Sam explained. Dean lightly smacked him upside his head.

"You should've said something! I told you we'd be close to Canada this hunt! Are these the warmest clothes you have?" He berated. Sam's lack of eye contact was all the answer Dean needed. He sighed, washing a hand over his face. "You trying kill me, Sammy?"

"Y-Y-You-u'd c-c-c-co-co-com*mmm*ee b-b-bb-back a-a-an *huhuhuh*haunt m-m-m-me."

"Damn right I'd haunt your ass," Dean smirked. "Now let's see if this place has anything to keep you from turning into the abominable snowman."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The brothers have stayed in some pretty awful places: motels that reek of cigar smoke, empty houses infested with pests, even outside on cold concrete if the situation was dire enough. This cabin might be their least favorite place. Sure it looked beautiful, was clean, and free from rodents or bugs, but it was not built for winter.

It's insulation is nonexistent, the windows are single paned which let the chill seep into the cabin, there is no fireplace, and no matter where they are, there is always a draft to send shivers up their spines. Dean was convinced that the cabin was colder than the snowy forest outside. He was tempted to sleep in the Impala, but since she was made of metal, she would be even colder (though he doubted it was possible for colder temperatures to exist).

Their father trained them to withstand cold temperatures and how to deal with cold weather emergencies. Dean kept trying to regulate his breathing like he was taught. Every inhale felt like a brain freeze to his sinuses, even inside! Despite all of this, Dean was still more worried for his brother.

Sam has never been very cold tolerant. His skinny body just didn't hold in enough heat. Living in the warmer climate of the Bay Area made him even less tolerant. Dean's stomach clenched at the memory of his baby brother shivering through cold weather training, his teeth clacking together so intensely that even their father allowed him to wear another layer. It was excruciating to see his little brother freezing without helping him.

This time wasn't cold training. This is one of the circumstances they trained for. Only this time, Dean won't sit idly by while Sammy freezes to death. He'll do whatever it takes to keep him warm. Whatever he did, he knew he'd have to do it quickly. Dean could already see his brother shaking from the cold, even in his new winter clothes.

"Why don't you go find some more blankets and I'll see if I can pump some heat into this place," Dean suggested. Sam nodded, rubbing his arms as he walked away. Dean examined the cabin, trying to find a thermostat or a furnace: anything. He nearly cheered when he found the water heater. All he had to do was relight the pilot light and... done! In an hour, it would be warm enough for a hot shower or two.

"D-D-Dean!" The older brother sprinted to where he heard Sam call. "We d-d-don't have p-p-p-p-power."

"Hang tight, Sammy! I'll try to find the generator. Stay here!" Dean ordered before running off. He checked the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the bedrooms, the closets, even the bathroom. It must be outside. Dean rushed outside and around the perimeter of the cabin. Finally, he found the generator piled under a mountain of snow. His gloved hands made opening the control panel very difficult, but if he took them off, he'd lose fingers to frostbite. Dean's hopes fell when the door opened to reveal every piece either rusted or frozen.

"Sonovabitch...," he grumbled, slamming the door shut. Hopefully whatever they had in the Impala could help, just until they could drive back into town for supplies. Dean ruffled through the trunk, the hidden compartment, the interior: all he found were a few more scraps of clothing and a lighter. He sighed.

"Generator's busted. We'll pick up stuff to fix it tomorrow. I did find a few more gloves and socks though," Dean explained, shaking off the snow from his jacket before putting it back on again.

"Don't worry, Dean. The stove's gas powered with a full tank of propane. It's kinda cozy," Sam replied, holding his gloved hands close to the lit burner. Dean was glad Sam wasn't shivering anymore. He knew from experience that it made his muscles sore as Hell.

"You wanna roast marshmallows and chestnuts?" The older brother teased.

"I know you're joking, but I could seriously use some hot chocolate right about now," Sam smirked, rubbing his arms again.

"You said it. We should get some mix. And some milk! Watery hot chocolate is disgusting," Dean added.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

After a couple of hours researching, Dean heated up a few cans of soup over the fire. It was getting dark, especially with the increasing snowfall. It wasn't too bad thanks to the candles they lit. They also provided some much needed warmth. Both boys divided the remaining clothes and blankets among themselves, Dean making sure Sam got whatever was warmest. His kid was bundled up in as many layers as he thought he could wear without Dean noticing. Of course, he did. But he wouldn't say anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam blow into his gloved hands and bounce his legs. While waiting for the soup to warm up, he rifled through the cabinets in search of something that could help Sam. He found a few heat packs and even one of those aqua bead pouches that could be heated or cooled. There was also some tea and sugar. Dean started to heat another pot of water for the tea and to heat up the aqua pouch.

"*huh-huh'PSHH! h'NSHuuh! hih-GISHhuuh!*"

"Hey, Sammy. Why don't you take a break for a bit. Stretch thise freakishly long legs of yours," Dean suggested, hoping to lure his brother closer to the heat source.

Sam happily left the dining room chairs, taking the long route to the kitchen so he wouldn't be too obvious.

"*HISHhuuh! tchSHOO! Heh-hih-ihHSHSH!*"

"You getting sick?"

"No. My nose is just running 'cause it's cold in here. And my scarf tickles sometimes," Sam explained, hugging himself.

"Wanna try one of these hot pack things? They're suplosed to be for injuries but they advertise heat," Dean offered, already preparing a pack. Sam nodded, but Dean would've put the pack on him anyways. The younger hunter shuddered violently when his shirt was pulled up in the back. He felt the pack stick to him, then Dean let go of him.

As upset as Sam wanted to be with Dean for invading his personal space, the glorious warmth of the pack started to kick in. He sighed contentedly, almost purring, as it helped his shivery muscles loosen.

"It's so warm," he thought aloud.

"That's why it's called a hot pack, Sammy. Here, eat up," Dean explained as he handed Sam a bowl of soup. The brothers stood by the stove as they ate the soup and drank the tea. Both were savoring the warmth from the dishes as well as their contents.

"You think you're gonna be warm enough, tonight Sammy?" Dean checked, handing him the warmed aqua pouch.

"Yeah, I'm good. What about you, though?" Sam worried.

"I'm too hot to freeze!"

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Dean let out another shuddery breath as a chill wracked him. He tried to curl himself into a tighter ball, but it wasn't helping. The hunter was so cold he couldn't stop shivering. His teeth kept making that annoying chattering sound no matter how much he wrapped himself in the blankets. He even used some spare towels from the closets!

"S-S-S-S-Sa-ammmy's w-ww-wwarm-m-m," Dean kept telling himself. "*huhuhuh*He's wwwwa-warm a-a-and s-s-s-s-sa*fffff*fe." He then shivered so hard it rocked the bed. Dean was wearing every piece of clothing he could. Everything else (minus the Fed Suit) was mingled in with the towels and covers. How was he still this cold?!

Finally fed up with turning into a popsicle, Dean eased himself out of the blankets to stand by the stove for a while. He was amazed to feel how much colder the room was outside of his cocoon. All his shivering reminded him to check on Sam. Dean shuffled around the corner and into the kitchen. He turned on the gas for the stove, but couldn't work the lighter with his gloves. He took them off then shuddered impossibly harder.

He dropped his lighter with a loud *THUNK!*. Dean winced, hoping the noise didn't wake his little brother. He decided to turn off the gas until he could find another way to light the stove. No sense in poisoning them both. While he waited for an idea to come, he saw one of the hot packs on the counter. Dean took off his gloves on the other hand so he could open their package. But he was shaking too much to properly grasp it.

"I knew it!"

Dean whipped around as Sam came out of his room with a blanket wrapped around him.

"You lecture me about the importance of of staying warm and wearing plenty of layers while you go and do the exact opposite!"

"M'f-f-ff-fi-ine S-S-S-Sam," Dean assured.

"You're not fine, you're frozen!" Sam echoed, wrapping the blanket around his brother. He grabbed the dropped lighter, then lit the front burners. Dean gave a shuddery sigh as he felt the warmth and held his palms out.

"Here: put these back on." Sam watched Dean struggle to put the gloves on for a few seconds before doing it himself. Dean looked away as he huddled into the blanket. Sam opened the hot pack and slipped it onto his brother's back before he had a chance to protest.

"Why didn't you tell me you were freezing? I could've added more layers and given you more blankets!" Sam demanded, preparing a pot of water for tea.

"Y-Y-Y-You wwwere *cuh-cuh-cuh*co-old a-all ddday," Dean explained.

"And you've been freezing all night. Maybe even longer!"

"*muh-muh-muh-muh*my-y j-j-jjjob-b... p-p-p-prot-tect y-y-yo-ou...."

"What's my job then? Sit around all warm and cozy while my big brother freezes to death? I can deal with being cold. I can't deal with losing you too." Sam looked away and took a breath to compose himself.

"S-S-Sam-m-my?"

"I'm fine!"

Dean unhuddled from the blanket so he could pull his brother into a hug. Sam burried his face in Dean's shoulder as he relaxed into the embrace.

"S'ok-k-kay S-Sammy. I-I'm g-g-getting warm-m-mer nno-ow. M-M-M'ok-k-k-kay."

Sam nodded into his shoulder. Dean's shivering slowed to a stop after a few minutes. Neither brother was willing to let go of the other just yet.

"You wanna try to sleep a bit more?" Sam offered, suppressing a yawn. "You can stay in my room 'cause it's warm."

"Yeah. Let's get'cha to bed, Sammy," Dean chuckled. Reluctantly, they let go to walk into Sam's room. They crawled under the covers on opposite sides of the bed, but they ended up gravitating towards each other. Their chilly and sleepy minds only registered the soft warmth and the presence of his brother.

Sam was snuggled up against Dean's chest, his head tucked right under the older hunter's chin. Dean wrapped his arms around his kid and nuzzled his soft hair. That was how they fell asleep: warm, cozy, and protected.

[espejonight28738]

15x03 The Rupture, Meta

 Fasten your seatbelts people because I’m back on my bullshit.

So, we finally had the anticipated and dreaded divorce. It hurt like shit, I know, but I think we all can agree it needed to happen, and Cas standing up for himself was amazing. Still, that ain’t what I’m talking about today. No, today we are just analysis one line:

“You and Sam have each other. I think is time for me to move on.”

And you may be thinking, why that one? It’s because the rest of Cas speech is plenty self-explanatory, but this one has so many implications… and I also think is telling us about the future.

So okay, disclaimer here, I love Dean and Sam. I do, and I hate to see people claiming all Destiel shippers hate or ignore Sam, that’s not true.  

Now, that said, this line I think is an explicit call out to Dean and Sam’s unhealthy co-dependency.

Think of it for a moment. The boys just lost their mother, their son, Rowena (their friend), Ketch (a more reluctant, but still kinda-sorta- friend), they kinda lost Kevin all over again. But they haven’t given themselves time to grief, because they need to ‘keep going’ and be strong for each other. And they have this ridiculous idea of “Well, we still have each other, so we need to be okay”

And that’s not true.

For 14 season they have had this unhealthy dependency that keeps them from having stable long-term relationships (of any kind) with other people.  

And Cas is spiting that in Dean’s face. He’s saying “Well, there still the both of you, so I guess nothing else really matters to you, right Dean?”

It’s not the first time someone calls out this unhealthy co-dependency between the Winchester brothers, but it hits different this time. First, the intention; Cas wasn’t trying to mock Dean or to be cruel, he was stating a problem. Second: It’s the first time someone so close to them has actually call it out. It was always externs, enemies, reluctant allies.  

But Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, Jack, Mary, Ellen, Jo, they never said it. Maybe they told them one particular decision was stupid, but that the whole co-dependency was a problem? Never. Castiel never did it before. He was so empathic with them (“You were stupid for the right reasons” for example), never pointed it like a problem.

And now he did, and this is so much more relevant, because he knows them, has been their friend for over a decade, he is (or was, I guess) Dean’s best friend for more than ten years. And Dean always showed him a vulnerability that he never allowed himself to show Sammy, so Cas is one of the people that know Dean the best, if not the one. So, if he points out the problem, I think it would be stupid of us to keep denying it. The series in general… I don’t think they would address it if they didn’t plan on doing something about it.

Now, it wouldn’t be the time the brothers try to do something about this, they have tried and succeed to different degrees, but every time there’s a step in the right direction, there are also like three steps back.

Sam has been the one who has tried the most, but he can’t. He tried to keep himself apart from Dean after he was brought back from The Cage, but in the end he couldn’t just ignore Dean forever. He tried to do it by not looking for a way to rescue Dean from Purgatory and try a life with Amelia (don’t boo me, I hated that story line as much as y’all, and still think it kinda was out of character, but we can’t pretend it didn’t happen). He tried when he left after the whole Gadreel incident, but ya know, Mark of Cain made him go back to Dean, and even if that hadn’t happened, he would have come back eventually, because this can’t be broken in a moment of anger or pure despair, that will just bring them back together with the same co-dependency eventually. And Sam, particularly, can’t bring himself to leave this unhealthiness if Dean doesn’t, because in the end the moment Dean comes back or needs help, any attempt goes to the trash.

This rupture (lol) needs to happen in a frame of stability (meaning, that It won’t bring death to the other, because they would never make a choice that would kill the other, but I think that is just their love, not necessarily the co-dependency). This may look a little bit unrealistic in Supernatural’s world, but it already happened once, in Purgatory. With Dean and Sam.

Dean knew it was hurting Sam the fact that he was there. He knew Sam wanted him to go back, but you know what else did he know? That they had killed the Leviathans, and Sam wasn’t in an imminent danger. He knew Sam would survive if he took more time coming back. And in that moment of “stability”, he didn’t put Sam first. He put Cas. He chose finding Cas so they could go home together over going back immediately to Sam, even though he though Sam would be worried sick looking for them.

Dean gave a step in the right direction.

So, now you are asking, why didn’t anything change?

Because he chose Cas, he consciously chose someone over Sam, and then that person didn’t choose him back. Castiel chose to stay in Purgatory over going home with Dean, and then Castiel chose to run off with the angel tablet instead of trusting him.

So, let’s say it one more time so you can digest it.

He consciously chose someone over Sam, and then that person didn’t choose him back.

Three steps back, now.

But there is something else here, isn’t it? The person (angel, whatever) that Dean chose was Cas. And it’s now Cas calling out this co-dependency, and he’s doing it pretty early in the season.

I think it’s because they will “fix” Sam and Dean’s relationship to one still full of love, yes, and healthy. They will break this endless cycle of anguish that the codependency brings into their family.  

After all of this, we know Sam can’t do it unless Dean does it too, and we know that Dean can do it if there is no immediate danger to Sam. That’s good.

In an ideal world, they would just learn to choose themselves, but Dean and Sam “I would give my life for that bird that just crossed in front of us” Winchester won’t. So, they are getting over their codependency by allowing themselves to choose someone else over their brother, by allowing other people to truly get close to them, no pushing them away. And for Dean, that person will be Cas, I’m pretty sure of it.  

For Sam is a little less certain in my mind, but I suspect it will be Eileen. Honestly, since they announced her coming back, I was really confused about the why. Don’t get me wrong! She’s cool and badass and I love her, and now that we lost Rowena we are in dire need of more recurrent female characters, so it will be really welcome. But why Eileen? Why not, I don’t know, Charlie? Or Jo? Or Ellen? Or Meg? Or even Bela? What move the writers to choose Eileen?

Don’t hate me for this, I hate as much as the next person when a female character only exists for the development of a male character, but I wouldn’t put it past the writers. So, I think they are bringing back Eileen because of the thing she and Sam had going on.  

The cycle of codependency will break not with anger, not with death, and not with resentment. It will be just with the two of them choosing to let someone else to be close enough, and to made the conscious election of choosing them over their brother, even if not in a life-death situation. Dean will choose Cas, and Sam will choose Eileen.

I’m not sure they will make Destiel canon, but they at least will heavily parallel their “friendship” to Sam and Eileen’s romantic relationship. Most probably they will just parallel. (But they don’t call me a clown for nothing, so I won’t lose hope of #canon destiel just yet. We’ll see in my future metas how’s that hope hanging on XD).

@metafest

[mittensmorgul]

I rewatched 15x07 today and I just couldn't stop seeing how much Eileen was Chuck in 15x7. Her personality, the "ew" when Cas said some part of Sam's soul is in Chuck, her reactions to any talk of Chuck, how she was standing behind Sam and sort of side eying him when Sam said he had been in Chuck's head... Well, even when she propositioned Sam, they were supposed to be looking for ways to *stop* Chuck. Why do you think the show chose to focus on that instead of developing Saileen's relationship?

omg, okay... so you see this exactly the same way I do, and I really wrestled with whether to post this publicly or not, because every time I bring up these extremely valid points, confirmed in canon by Chuck, I get told I’m either a horrible person for thinking this way or I’m delusional or a moron for feeling uncomfortable ignoring this stuff just for the sake of a ship. And I just... can’t ignore it. Because it’s canon.

One of the Big Questions of the entire season is “what is real, and what is Chuck.” Eileen returned ONE EPISODE after we learned the extent of Chuck’s ability to fuck with them directly, via Lilith. The notion that Chuck would just drop that lesson on them and then peace out is just... idiotic to me. We were supposed to see Sam’s statement at the beginning of 15.06, and Dean’s reply, as the huge flashing neon warning sign it was supposed to be:

Sam: No. I haven't had a vision since Colorado. I think maybe they stopped.Dean: Oh, I doubt it. Not until Chuck gets His end game, you know? The Winchester Bowl. Cain and Abel 2.0. This is God we're talking about. G-O-D. Wouldn't be too worried about finding Him. He'll find us. 

LOLOLOLOL I mean, yes? He doesn’t even have to look hard to find you? He knows exactly where you are and how to manipulate you. He’s been doing it basically forever.

and then all of a sudden *random dead character we haven’t seen or even MENTIONED in three years* just suddenly appears specifically needing their help? And we’re supposed to think it’s an unproblematic win all around?

Sure Jan.

Chuck honestly couldn’t have chosen a better lure to send them. Someone the Winchesters would be thrown off by, someone they felt guilt over not having been able to save. Someone they’d be willing to drop everything else to help, and wouldn’t question remaining present in their lives. Someone they would trust without question. And specifically someone who had the kind of connection to Sam that Chuck could exploit to further the divide between Sam and Dean. Exactly as we saw happen... Dean made assumptions about their relationship and retreated even further into his own issues, leaving Sam alone and open to Chuck using Eileen in exactly the way we saw play out in his Vision of the Future in 15.09... driving Sam into her arms only to kill her off in a horrific, tragic situation in order to manipulate Sam into the reckless nihilism that engulfed their world by the end. Sounds exactly like what Chuck failed to accomplish with the whole BMoL plot in s12, which we ALSO know was orchestrated BY HIM, thanks to 14.20. Same story, different turn of the wheel.

Because Chuck needed all of that to get around the effects of that wound and lay down a trap that would eventually be sprung at the end of 15.08. If Cas hadn’t gone poking around in Sam’s wound, compromising Chuck’s plan, theoretically I believe he would’ve continued to use Eileen as his eyes on the Winchesters. The whole “lure Eileen out of the bunker and ensure she brings Sam along for the ride” thing felt more like a scramble to find a faster solution to his bigger problem and eliminate the compromised middle-man in his ability to directly mess with the Winchesters, which brought us to 15.09 and his desperation to force Sam into “breaking the connection” by his own choice. Since it was Sam’s will that fired the not-a-bullet that wounded them both in the first place. He literally had to break Sam’s will that generated that connection in 14.20.

As far as Chuck knew, his plans for Eileen to seduce Sam had failed, repeatedly. Between Cas’s cockblock entrance in 15.07 (which I still struggle to see as Sam ready to accept her proposition, for SO many reasons... I mean just look at his face in the first moments after it registers that she’s propositioning him. Those initial reactions are absolutely not undiluted romantic interest and passion, much as some creatively edited gif sets would lead you to believe.

I appreciate this one, with the further context of 15.09 to support my tag on it from the day after 15.07 aired.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/189512551075

The look Eileen gives Cas is just screaming come on you believe me right? I’m completely innocent in all of this! Just nice little sweet resurrected Eileen! Like Chuck hadn’t expected Cas to show back up and interfere with his Seduce Sam for Manpain plan.

But that seduction scene actually hurts to watch... I mean, Sam is still feeling the guilt and pain over having killed Rowena, only to discover all of her worldly possessions and magic had been entrusted to him (and not yet knowing that specific spell to resurrect Eileen had been planted by Chuck as a deliberate manipulation in itself...).  LOOK AT THIS SERIES OF FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AND EXPLAIN HOW THIS IS ROMANTIC INTEREST AND NOT GRIEF AND SHOCK:

https://canonspngifs.tumblr.com/post/189663948344/adaav-sam-winchester-15x07

Okay, now that’s out of the way, back to Eileen.

Why did they make this particular choice for her character instead of developing a real relationship with Sam and Eileen? Because she was never written with the intent of becoming Sam’s endgame love interest.

Full stop.

Anyone who says otherwise is either choosing to believe that because it props up their chosen ship or they’re unaware of the numerous times that Robbie Thompson has contradicted that statement.

I mean, I don’t usually quote this source, but this is Robbie Thompson speaking recently (within the last year) specifically about the creation of Eileen’s character:

Next up: Eileen and Shoshannah. Did they specifically want a woman hunter?

Robbie: No, it was just, they were looking for standalone episodes. So what will happen is the showrunners will come around and say, “Hey, we need a myth-arc episode. Please deliver X, Y, and Z, but build an episode around it. Or [do] a standalone.” I had this idea for this character and I had worked with Shoshannah, sort of tangentially, because I was the writer’s assistant and I wrote an episode of Jericho. She wasn’t in the episode that I wrote but she played Bonnie on that show and (this is a spoiler if you haven’t seen Jericho) her character has an untimely death. But Shoshannah was so good in the series, and she was so terrific in that episode. She’s a badass in that episode, with a whole infiltration thing and she’s blowing dudes away with a shotgun, and I was like, “Oh, I wanna see her kick some ass.” I always wanted to work with her again. So I pitched the episode with that character in mind, and then I was like, “I’d love to work with Shoshannah again.” They reached out and she fortunately had a window in her schedule; she was available.

Then I reached out, I think originally through her manager, to say, “Hey, can you put us in touch because I’m not deaf and I want to make sure I’m getting an authentic experience for the performer.” So she and I exchanged a bunch of emails. She’s since gone on to be a showrunner and a writer in her own regard. She’s a really, really brilliant writer and a brilliant actor as well. It was great being able to get her the script early so she could help me fix the parts that didn’t work. Then, on the day, she and Jared had really great chemistry and John Badham, who was the director of that episode ("Into the Mystic" 11.11), they really played around and found a lot of fun moments that weren’t scripted at all. That was just them having fun and building moments.

All those cute chemistry moments... were never even scripted. She was intended to be a one-off character that was unsurprisingly very well loved by fandom, and who was brought back when the overarching plot made her MoL connection relevant to the story in 12.17. Unfortunately for her, that meant her ONLY purpose for returning to the story was literally to be killed for Sam’s manpain. They gave her just enough cute chemistry with Sam to imply they had the potential for a romantic connection, and then killed her in one of the most brutal and horrific ways possible. Which was literally exactly what Chuck used her for in s15.

I’d like to suggest that, knowing the full truth of her entire situation, that the sinister parallel being suggested in 15.07 is not between Cas and Eileen, but between Eileen and Lee Webb. Sam’s history with her is similarly tragic to Dean’s history with Lee. And Lee represented a version of an apple pie life that tempted Dean-- the prospect of having food, fun, health, and happiness instead of the grind of hunting. Only it was a lie, because Lee hadn’t made that life for himself, he’d built it off the magic of a creature he sacrificed an endless stream of human lives to in order to falsely manipulate his own circumstances. The cake is a lie, in other words. Just like the cheerful hangover breakfast Sam and Eileen were preparing at the beginning of the episode. It just... wasn’t real. We were being urged to consider this parallel. And not seeing it for what it was required having some heavy duty ship goggles glued on.

This was doubled-down on in 15.08, with Sam being a bit overbearing and nearly getting himself killed in the opening hunt, pushing Eileen to their “agreement,” which additionally foiled Chuck’s plans to push them together romantically. Eileen couldn’t spy on Sam for Chuck if she still retained enough independence to set boundaries like that, you know? If she didn’t have eyes on the Winchesters, she wasn’t useful for what Chuck was using her for, and she was punished for that failure as much as Sam was, being forced to hurt Sam in 15.09.

Heck. This is how I’ve always seen all of this. If folks enjoy assuming some Grand Romance between Sam and Eileen, more power to them. But honestly I just can’t personally see the justification in canon for that read on things. Not to say that Sam and Eileen won’t choose to come to a different understanding in the future, or that their relationship couldn’t develop into something more once Chuck has been dealt with, but I can’t see it as romantic yet. I’d be totally down to ship them in that eventuality. And in fanon, I’m totally here for it even now.