#misha collins in drag

[hoziersong]

misha collins said 'it's been more than two years since i fucked around and found out let's do it again' and now we have to hear the words 'ao3' and 'queerbait' come out of his mouth. 4 years after spn ended

[damnikindadontcare]

Funniest thing Sam Winchester has ever said has gotta be in Ask Jeeves (9x6) when that older woman was hitting on him compared herself to finely aged cheese and he deadass replied with “well I’m lactose intolerant so…”

[loki-hargreeves]

I can't believe that this man now lives in my head rent-free

[deancasforcutie]

still chasing the high of that halcyon age where Supernatural was my healthy safe escape from the horrors of US politics, and then

[rivvyve]

Supernatural Fandom!

This is your favorite show’s favorite show!

Please come check out Dead Boy Detectives- there is literally no fandom as powerful as you guys and I know as a Supernatural fan myself that this show will speak to you guys. It made me feel like a kid again, and the writers of this show are so incredibly promising.

You can stream in on Netflix and I swear it’s worth the 7 1/2 hours.

[itslikepieces]

I did a Dashcon inspired drag number. I forget how to make a good tumblr post.

[deanswhiskeyglass]

Figured i should introduce myself finally

My name is Jaymes/Jamie/Ash! Any of those are fine, ash(ly)is my real name but I’ve gone by the first two on the internet so long so I don’t mind it. My pronouns are he/him, she/her!

this acc is mainly just used for shitposting about my interests (currently spn) which i have quite a bit of!!

I’ve been in the spn fandom almost 5 years now, which is genuinely crazy to think about; 5 years and the love for this show just hasn’t faded away.

Here’s a quick list of my interests, feel free to comment if you have the same interests! I love meeting new people >:]

supernatural, djats, iwtv, 60s - 80s era of music, guitar, drums, reading, writing, horseback riding, welding, homesteading, drawing, collecting vinyls, gardening, photography, moshing, going 2 shows, making music, and drag racing!

I spend a LOOT of time at the drag race track or horseback riding, and i mostly run off of caffeine (mainly monsters & iced coffee)

Some facts about me; I love homesteading and have a LOOOT of chickens.

I’m currently trying to enter into rodeos, doing barrels and poles. Maybe some western pleasure.

I really LOVE iced coffee

I LOOOVE 70s classic rock. Literally the epitome of rock right before the 80s and i will never shut up about the history of rock n roll.

I’m learning to weld, i will be in college for it soon, so i can make it into a career :)

I do other types of gardening and dabble in a few other natural things 🍃

i love working on cars and trucks, mainly from the 70s, 80s and 90s eras

I have 7 dogs and 15 cats, i run a private rescue :)

Anyways, that’s me! I have tons of other show related hyperfixations so you’re free to ask me questions! I’m generally super nice, i just don’t fw incest shippers and people who ship real people 🤷‍♀️

[billiewena]

FOUR YEARS SINCE NOV 5TH, 2020, as summed up by Supernatural

past recaps: year one / year two / year three / year four

full context and sources below:

various explanations + resources/sources/extra reading on this year's recap:

balls deep: misha collins says the quiet part out loud at Cross Roads 8 Supernatural Convention, saying "if the CW wasn't so homophobic dean and cas would've been balls deep for sure" at a con (x) (x) (x)

garthbenny canon: supernatural actors DJ Qualls (who played hunter-turned-werewolf Garth Fitzgerald) and Ty Olsson (who played the vampire Benny Lafitte) reveal they're married, delighting crack shippers like myself everywhere (x)

spn spooky picture book: official supernatural children's picture book is released, retconning things like john winchester as a happy father figure and castiel being their cowardly childhood friend who sorta hangs around (x) (x)

boop button: tumblr introduces a feature people enjoy for once for april fool's day and halloween and allows users to boop each other, spn bloggers re-awake like sleeper agents to use it in full force (x) (x)

bedlund speaks on destiel: former spn writer ben edlund goes on a tweet fest replying to fans, talking about destiel multiple times including this profound tweet (x)

clear text, not subtext: jensen speaks out again on the confession at Purcon 8, this time taking a more open stance on how the relationship was textual, his take on dean's feelings about cas's feelings, and how the scene with cas deserved a resolution (x)

bury your gays: famed author chuck tingle (known for his plethora of highly specific and delightfully inclusive, if strange, indie erotica novels) publishes his second mainstream horror novel, inspired by TV network studios' infamous history of censoring LGBT relationships and openly killing off queer characters. In a non-subtle nod to supernatural fans, the main character is named misha. (sidenote: did end up reading this and this book is actually really good commentary on the industry in general and really good, 10/10 recommend) (x) also someone got the book signed by misha, to further break the fourth wall (x)

tracker: jensen ackles begins starring in a CBS show where he is basically csoplaying dean winchester, with the show featuring many non-subtle spn references (i.e. him pretending to almost get in an impala before going to his truck, characters wearing spn necklaces, etc.) (x) (x) (x) (special shout-out to clarice @youre-only-gay-once for expertly tracking the tracker show and these easter eggs, highly recommend their tag for their show)

cw's walker cancelled: fans rejoiced upon hearing the cancellation news for jared's post-supernatural show, walker, a remake of "walker texas ranger." in addition to generally being a copaganda show for the notoriously racist texas rangers, jared's inspiration for the show's direction caused much concern. the actor himself said the show was inspired by the US border crisis, not by the immigrant families affected by the separation and internment, but instead wanting exploring the POV of the law enforcement agents working at the border and the moral dilemmas they had to face (x)

pro-destiel Wonder Woman: Lynda Carter (aka the iconic and beloved original actress for Wonder Woman, not the z*onist one) says she could "go for some Destiel" when promoting #GeeksandNerdsforHarrisWalz and Misha's involvement (x) the rest of the spn cast and original Showrunner Kripke were also a big part of this event

chili's backfire: the chain restaurant chili's drags destiel while interacting with 9-1-1 bucktommy shippers on twitter, immediately gets backfire. notably, their stock takes a dip the next day. coincidence? maybe so, maybe not (x) (x)

samgirl voting fraud: "who is the gayest spn character" tumblr poll surprisingly gets heated, with a blogger straight-up admitting they used a bot on the "castiel vs. sam" poll to rig the poll in sam's favor, which they apparently also did for w*ncest in another poll in the past, and posting a guide on how anyone could do the same. luckily democracy wins in this one instance and castiel prevails anyways, leading to an also contested "castiel vs. charlie bradbury" round (x) (x)

pink pony jarpad: jared is spotted at lesbian pop star chappell roan's set at a festival, un-likely place for him to be (x) also may have been one of the "boring" people called out by chappell? (x)

pro-kamala castiel: in a last-ditch effort to get out the vote, misha uses the power of castiel photo ops to campaign for harris-walz and even shouts-out destiel. I feel depressed writing this sentence, if you've made it this long in your read and you're in the states I hope you're doing alright! maybe by the time I wake up things will be a little different though. (x)

[whyissupernaturaltrending]

September 18, 2023 - Supernatural trends on the anniversary of Lazarus Rising and Castiel's first appearance on the show.

Fifteen years ago, on September 18, 2008, the first episode of Supernatural season 4 aired and completely changed the trajectory of the show with the appearance of Castiel. Angels hadn't even been supposed to be in the show, but the WGA strike (Nov 5, 2007 - Feb 12, 2008) had forced the season 3 to end with Dean going to hell and someone had to drag him out of there. Enter Castiel [x].

He was supposed to appear, stay for three episodes, and disappear. As we all know, that didn't exactly go as planned and here we are, 15 years later, coincidentally in a middle of another strike.

Misha Collins has posted about this on his socials [x].

[jenanigans1207]

The way Jensen pulls Misha in during that fourth gif is making me actually insane

[profoundbondfanfic]

Broken (The Worst is Over Now)

Broken (The Worst is Over Now) by TrenchCoat_Paradigm Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 45k

Dean almost couldn’t believe it when he saw that huddled body swaddled in a tan trenchcoat sitting in the middle of the dungeon floor. Cas was back. After months of searching, digging through the archives to find a way to drag his ass out of the Empty, they had finally done it. But something was wrong. This wasn’t the Castiel that smiled up at him with a tearful goodbye after revealing his true happiest moment. This was a wild, snarling beast of a man, warped and twisted, feral thanks to the damage of the Empty. A man who would probably rip out Dean’s throat rather than confess his love. Even when Dean breaks through that wild exterior, he discovers that Castiel still thinks he’s trapped in the hell that is the Empty. That nothing around him is real. Dean just has to get through to him.

One thing I will never take for granted is that even almost four years after our show ended, we’re still getting fic. And fix it fic, at that. Four years after the end of Supernatural, and we’re still unsatisfied, and willing to write our own ending, as our beloved Misha Collins told us to do when the show ended. 

Broken (The Worst is Over Now) is another one of those amazing fix-it fics that could easily stand in as a satisfying conclusion to the show, the one we didn’t get in canon. When I tell you I would have ate up an entire season of this idea, I’m not kidding. Dean is a wreck after losing Cas and using all his energy to find a way to bring him home, until his resources run out, along with his will to keep going. Instead, he’s giving in to his depression, until Sam calls in reinforcements. 

Rowena. Up from hell with a spell in hand, once that successfully yanks Cas out of the Empty—only Cas thinks none of it is real, that it’s just another nasty trick being played on him by the Empty, another way to torture him, and break his spirit the same way it's been doing since his confession. What results is ultimately a story about Dean’s love, and how he comes to terms with this new version of Cas and what it takes to convince him they really are, in fact, what’s real. This is a great fic that had me laughing and in tears at various points, and if that isn’t the mark of a good fic, I don’t know what is. Add in our favorite love story and we’ll consider this one a winner.

[rivvyve]

Supernatural Fandom, y’all still kickin here?

Dunno how many of you caught Ruth Connell aka Rowena appear in the Netflix show Dead Boy Detectives, but she was phenomenal. The cast and writers were all impeccable, and the characters and story were so whimsical and complex. Both Misha Collins and Richard Speight Jr. backed the show on their socials and for good reason- it was the best show I never knew I needed!

Of Course, Netflix took it upon themselves to cancel it. They waited four months for a long weekend to launch the announcement through a separate news source like the cowards they are- so how about a little chaos? They screwed the creatives out of their jobs and dragged it out for months- not to mention the actors.

Maybe you saw the show and it wasn’t your cup of tea, maybe you didn’t even hear about it because Netflix and marketing their YA Fantasy is about as likely as Destiel getting a happy ending. 30 seconds to sign the petition, maybe leave a comment here or there on Netflix’s page, use the plethora of gifs that have never once gathered dust. Make a money grubbing entertainment corporation run around like a chicken with its head cut off.

For the Queen Herself

[heteroflexiblecastiel]

misha collins i have a brilliant idea to reinvigorate your career in show business...... have you ever heard of a television program called "rupauls drag race"

[impala-dreamer]

Save Me - Part Two

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester (cameos by Misha Collins and OCs)

7,160 Words Total. Part Two: 3,950

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Snow was falling from a gray sky. Big flakes landed on his shoulders, dusted his hair, melted on his cheeks. His lips were frozen; his fingers numb. 

The cherry of his cigarette fell to the icy sidewalk and he huffed. He fumbled with the lighter and lit back up, pulling at the filter as if he were trying to set his lungs on fire. 

Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to set the hotel on fire, the police station, the entire city.

Jensen tipped his head back and exhaled, sending the smoke to mix with the clouds overhead.

“When did you start smoking again?” 

Misha appeared next to him, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a jacket. He was visibly cold, bouncing a bit for warmth even as he settled next to Jensen. 

“I don’t know. When did the world implode? Four days ago?” He licked his lip and then took another drag. “Then.” 

Misha shook his head sadly and Jensen rolled his eyes. 

He flicked the butt into the street and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Put your coat on at least,” Misha suggested, tapping his shoulder with the jacket. 

Jensen looked down at it as if he’d never seen anything like it. 

“No.” 

Misha sighed. “It’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” 

“So?” 

Not wanting to fight, Misha draped the jacket over Jensen’s shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze. 

“Y/N needs you to be strong. You can’t go off and get pneumonia.” 

Jensen turned his head and glared; green eyes narrow and angry. “She doesn’t need me to be strong. She needs me to fucking find her.” His jaw clenched so hard he could feel his pulse beat in his temples. “She needs me to save her.” 

Heartbroken, Misha closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I know. But there’s nothing you can do right now.” 

Jensen scoffed. “Isn’t there?” 

“No. The police are-” 

Enraged, defeated, hopeless, Jensen spun away, kicking at the snow and pushing Misha’s care away. “The police aren’t doing shit! It’s been four fucking days!” 

“I know…”

“They can’t even figure out who took her. The fucking- the security cameras in the parking garage weren’t fucking working! What the fuck good is that!”

The louder Jensen’s voice grew, the smaller Misha felt. There was nothing he could say, no way to comfort his friend. 

Jensen wouldn’t be comforted even if Misha knew how. He wanted to rage at the universe. To put his fist through the brick wall behind him. To drive a truck through the Starbucks across the street. To run away from everyone and everything in this godforsaken city and find her. He had to find her. 

A snowflake landed on his nose and he batted it away, slapping himself in the face. 

He calmed. 

His heart ached.

His voice crackled with tears. 

“Odds are,” he whispered, “She’s dead already.” 

“Don’t say that.” Misha choked back his own pain and cleared his throat. “The detective said there’s no reason to assume-”

Jensen laughed bitterly. “Forty-eight hours, isn’t that what they say? If you don’t find them in the first forty-eight hours you’re not going to. Or they turn up dead on the side of the road or in a shallow grave behind some psycho’s house.” 

“Jensen…” 

Green eyes closed to the world. 

He was trembling, shaking from the cold and the pain of uncertainty and loss. 

“I just…I don’t know what to do.” 

They stood there in silence, letting January seep into their bones. There was nothing to say, nothing either of them could do. 

It just was what it was. 

And it was impossible. 

A deep shiver moved through Jensen’s body and he shoved his arms through the jacket sleeves, thankful that Misha was looking out for him and the little things. He was too shattered to care about staying alive. Not right now. 

He turned back to his friend and the revolving doors, deciding it was time to go back in and shake away the cold. 

Flashing lights pulled his attention to the street and he held his breath as the police car turned into the hotel lot. The world moved in slow motion as the car parked in the nearby handicapped spot and Detective Lassiter hopped out. He held a clear bag in his thick fist and his countenance was heavy. He looked at Jensen and shook his head. 

Jensen’s universe cracked. He bit his tongue, needing to feel the pain to keep himself conscious as the detective explained what had happened. 

“They’re not asking for a ransom,” he said, speech rushed and emotionless. “Not yet, anyway. But this- this is good.” He handed the bag to Jensen. 

Y/N’s diamond engagement ring glistened in the dim gray light. 

Jensen closed his fist around it. The platinum prongs dug into his palm. “How?” His voice broke. “How is this good?”  

“Means they want something. They’re not just going to kill her and be done. This is the kidnappers opening a line of communication.” 

Jensen couldn’t hear him, couldn’t follow his words any longer. His fist tightened and the diamond cut through the thin evidence bag. He squeezed until it hurt, until his skin broke, until he could feel the warm trickle of blood. 

A drop fell from his fist and painted the freshly fallen snow.

It was hard to stay awake, hard to think. 

The pain was still there, but she couldn’t feel it much anymore. It didn’t feel as intense, as if she were getting used to the constant stabbing and shredding of her insides that accompanied every breath she took.  

She couldn’t feel the cold anymore either. Her flesh had simply become part of the concrete, all of her warmth had been drained into the darkness. 

In and out of the dreamless sleep of unconsciousness, she lay on the dirty floor, barely able to think let alone move. 

“Why you?” she whispered, watching burgundy flannel pace back and forth by the steps. 

Dean stopped short, his boots making a dull thud on the floor. 

“What?” 

She lifted her head, cringed at the hurt that erupted in her shoulder. 

“I said, why is it you?” 

His forehead creased and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Who else would it be?” 

Y/N rubbed her right eye. It was dry and it hurt to blink. She was dehydrated and starving; her body was failing, her mind was slipping. 

“It’s just odd, I guess.”

Dean sat on the bottom step, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t think it’s that weird. You need someone to talk to, you need someone to help. I’m pretty good at that shit.” 

Y/N sighed. “But you don’t exist. I’m just talking to myself.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Not really.”

“There should have been way more demon Dean.” 

Jensen laughed and shot her a look that would have knocked her over had she not already been sitting down. 

The couch cushion between them seemed as wide as an ocean, but neither were ready to swim across. 

“You like bad boys, huh?” He licked his lips and watched hers as she answered. 

“I guess everybody does at some point,” she said. “But there was something special about Dean as a demon. It was like… he was finally free for a little while. Like he was on vacation. Just hanging out and getting laid-”

Jensen grinned. “And murdering innocent people.”  

She dipped her chin and looked up at him flirtatiously. “Is anyone ever truly innocent, Jensen?” 

His smile faded and he stared harder. His lips parted slowly. “Are you?” 

She blinked, painted lashes fanning over enchanting eyes. “I can be when I need to be.” 

Her hand slid across the space between them and she bit her lip, daring him to match her move, begging him to meet her halfway. 

He dropped his hand to the cushion, fingers landing a breath away from hers. 

“What about right now?” he asked, leaning close. 

She could feel the heat pushing off of him, smell the lingering scent of his faded cologne. 

“Honestly?” she smirked. 

He nodded. “Always.” 

Y/N leaned in dangerously close. “I’m not feeling too innocent right now.” 

A tentative kiss. The first taste of his lips; the first feel of her skin.

There were footsteps above her head. Someone running; heavy shoes falling on old wooden planks. 

Y/N lay on her back and stared up at nothing. There were long beams above her and she wondered what it would take for them to come crashing down and crush her to death. 

It wasn’t that she wanted to die, she’d never want that, but she knew it was happening. She could feel her body giving up. Her skin was hot but she shivered. Her blood had dried but the wounds wouldn’t stay closed. Her thoughts were fuzzy and shadows played tricks on her.

She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they’d tossed her down the steps; didn’t know how far from help she was. Time meant nothing. It could have been hours, a month, a week mostly likely. There was no way for her to guess. No windows to help count the sunsets, no ticking clock to pace her breaths to. 

Sometimes, she counted her heartbeats just to have something to do, but they were unsteady. Too fast at times and then far too slow. It scared her to pay attention to the erratic pulse of her blood, so she tried to ignore it. 

Mostly, she remembered things. 

Mostly, she remembered him. 

In moments when the pain overwhelmed her and her eyes refused to stop leaking, she would pull up his face, try to remember the placement of every freckle, count each thick eyelash. She could still feel his hands on her skin, smell his breath first thing in the morning. She could taste the salt on his neck after a workout, hear his delicate whispers in the heat of night. But his eyes were fading away. She couldn’t get the shade right in her mind; couldn’t remember what shirt made them darker, what time of day they looked the lightest.  

The green was washing away. 

Last winter. A break in filming. Sand beneath their feet; ocean breeze filling their lungs. 

The sun was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she refused to close them, unwilling to miss one single second of time with him. 

He was already burning in the sun; his shoulders tanning, his chest turning red. Every now and then, he’d take off and run into the water, dip below the perfect blue horizon and cool off. She loved those moments the best, when he came back to her dripping and laughing, his hair wet and slicked back behind his jet-fin ears. 

He’d always come back to her, always fall down over her, hold himself up on his big arms and let the ocean water dribble down onto her bare stomach. He’d block the sun for a few precious moments, and all she could see was the halo around him and the love in his eyes. 

“Y/N…” 

She couldn’t open her eyes. They felt so heavy, so dry. It was all so pointless. 

“Y/N, wake up, sweetheart.” 

Dean was hovering again, crouched down at her side. His giant hand was hovering over her forehead as if checking her temperature like a mother would for her child. 

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” she croaked. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with his worried smile. 

“What should I call you then?” 

“A cab.” 

He laughed softly. “You’re still funny. That’s good.” 

“Is it?” 

She tried to sit up but her spine felt like gelatin. She tried to speak but her throat was ripped to shreds. She tried to cry but her eyes were dry and nothing came out. Her shoulders shook and she moaned pitifully. 

Dean’s jaw clenched, dimples popped above his lip. “You gotta get out of here. You’re not doin’ so well.” 

Y/N curled in on herself, knees and shoulders meeting somewhere in the middle. “Go away.” 

“No.” 

She covered her face. 

He shifted onto his knees. “You gotta get up and find a way out.” 

“There is no way out. We’ve looked a hundred times.” 

He exhaled hard, frustrated and desperate. “You gotta try again. You gotta get out.”

Her eyes fell closed again, her breathing slowed. “He’ll find me. He’ll save me…”

Y/N was still confused when the elevator door opened. Jensen had refused to tell her where they were going or why they were dressed like they were being photographed for GQ. 

‘Wear that purple dress,’ he’d said on the phone with no explanation why. 

Her hand clasped in his, they stepped out into a large empty ballroom. Floor to ceiling windows looked out on a gray morning; the L.A. smog was thick and hung like rain clouds in the sky.

Jensen led her deep into the room and turned to face her. He was nervous, she could tell. His chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his thumb over her hand quickly, breathed a little too fast. 

She laughed gently. “What’s going on?” 

He took a big, calming breath. 

He licked his lips and smiled. 

“Eighteen months ago, we were both here for that HBO after party. You wore this purple dress and I was wearing…” He looked down at his crisp black button down and charcoal slacks. “Well, this.” 

She smiled. “I remember. It was the first time we met.” 

He swallowed hard and held her hand in both of his. His palms were damp. 

“But what you don’t know is that I saw you the very second you walked in.” He bit the corner of his mouth and took a second to collect his racing thoughts. “I was over there by the window talking to Eric and you walked in… It was like the crowd opened up for you. Every head turned; the music stopped.” 

“I don’t think it was that much of an entrance,” she laughed. 

“It was for me.” 

Her heart raced. 

“Jen, what’s going on?” 

He smiled and bent down to kiss her lips. He held her face in his hands, ran his thumbs lightly over her cheeks. She kissed him back, licking at his plump lips.

“I wanted to do that the moment I saw you,” he whispered. 

Her eyes fluttered open and all she saw was green.

“And this…” 

He let her go and dropped down onto one knee. 

He took her hand. 

She held her breath. 

“Marry me, Y/N…”

“I need you to calm down.” 

Detective Lassiter was tucked behind his messy desk, his beer gut smushed against the edge. 

Jensen refused to relax. He paced in front of the man’s desk, his hands rushing through his hair; fists beating at the stale air. 

“I can’t fucking calm down, OK!” His face was red and his jaw hurt from holding his tongue for so long. “You people can’t do shit, you know that? It’s been six fucking days.” 

“Mr. Ackles, please-”

“No. No. No.” He turned to the detective and slammed his hands down on the desk. He leaned in, close to growling. “You need to save her.” 

The older man sat forward. “We are doing everything we can. They’re working on the emails right now. Still hoping there’s traceable DNA on the ring. We will get these bastards. We will find her.” 

Jensen closed his eyes, felt a thousand more tears brewing in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on without having a complete breakdown. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to soothe his soul. 

Only one thing would do. 

Only Y/N.

He was coughing so badly she was sure he was dying. She could hear him from the kitchen, his wet cough rattling above the sound of the screaming kettle. 

She poured the boiling water onto the tea bag and grabbed some Tylenol from the cabinet. 

The room was dark but the light from his cell phone guided her across the soft carpet. 

“Hey…” 

He groaned miserably. 

“You feelin’ any better?” 

He shook his head. “I feel like death.” 

Y/N set the mug of tea down on the nightstand and switched on the lamp. 

He cringed at the light and shielded his eyes with a forearm over his face.

“You better not die on me, Ackles. I’ve still got plans for you.” 

He smiled and sat up a little bit, reaching for the tea. “You can’t get rid of me this easily. Even if it is your fault.”

She gasped in mock offense. “It is not my fault!” 

“You got me sick,” he chuckled and took a sip. 

“Yeah. You’re right. It was all part of my master plan to steal the Impala from you.” She pressed her fingertips together and gave him an evil grin. “Everything is falling into place.”

He laughed. It triggered a cough and she took the tea from him as his body shook. 

“Oh, god, Jen.” Her brow creased with worry and she pressed a cool hand to his cheek. “You’re burning up, baby. I think we should get you to the doctor.” 

Jensen shook his head and grabbed her wrist. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. “Just stay with me, please.” 

She smiled and settled in next to him. “They couldn’t pull me away…” 

There was screaming coming from above. The words were muffled but the emotion was clear. 

They were coming for her. 

Y/N lay face down on the floor, her fingertip tracing a crack in the concrete. She was tired, so tired, and cold again. The air touching her skin hurt, the strands of hair that touched her forehead felt like knives. 

Dean was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body locked in a tense defensive pose. He listened to the shouts, eyes narrowed and ears struggling to understand. 

“That’s it,” he huffed, spinning around toward Y/N. “You gotta get up. You gotta go. Now.” 

Boots pounded above. 

Y/N sighed. “It’s fine. He’s coming for me. Jensen is coming. He’ll save me.” 

Dean grit his teeth and knelt down beside her. His voice was deep and firm. “Listen to me. You can still fight. You can get up and fight.” 

She laughed. “I can’t. Look at me. I’m… I can’t fight. They’ll kill me.” 

“Then you go down swinging. You’re not some damsel in distress, Y/N. Get up and fight!” 

Gingerly, she rolled over and looked up at him. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just have to lay here and wait for the cops to show up.” She sighed and closed her eyes, waving him away. “I’m tired, Dean.”

The fight upstairs was growing louder, the boots getting closer to the door. 

Dean slammed his palms against the floor by her head, making her jolt awake. 

“No one is coming to save you. Get up!”

Navy uniforms blurred in his vision. People rushed past the big window, but he stayed put, frozen in the chair beside Lassiter’s desk. 

Jensen was in shock; tired and lost. He had barely heard the detective when he explained the situation. 

They’d tracked down the kidnappers. The S.W.A.T. team was on their way. Just a few more hours and Y/N would be home. 

He just had to wait. 

Finally, Dean got her to stand. Her legs were shaky, but her head was clearing. She knew what had to be done. 

Behind the staircase was an old, rusted tool box. Inside it, a hammer. 

She gripped the wooden handle tight. 

Dean urged her to stand in the shadows beside the staircase. He held her gaze, reassuring her every second that she could do this. She could fight her way out. She could run. 

The boots above stopped. The kitchen light turned on, illuminating the seams around the door at the top of the stairs. 

Y/N steadied her breathing. She bent her knees, planting herself on the spot. 

The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open. 

Her hand trembled. 

Dean nodded reassuringly. “You got this.” 

Heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs and a large man appeared, gun in hand. 

Y/N’s blood was racing, adrenaline coursing through every cell. 

The man turned to the right and Y/N leapt from the left. She lunged forward, swinging the hammer with every bit of strength she had. 

She missed his head, striking him in the forearm. 

The gun fell. 

She pulled her arms back and the claw of the hammer dug into the flesh beneath the man’s chin. He screamed and doubled over, taking the old tool with him. 

Y/N stared down at him, eyes wide with shock and terror. 

“Now!” Dean clapped his hands, stealing her attention back. “Run!”

She could still feel the warmth of the lights on her face; hear the cheers from the crowd. 

Jensen pulled her close and kissed a trail down to her lips. He kissed her forehead, her nose, the top of each cheek. By the time he met her lips, she was laughing into him, so warm, so happy. 

His arms folded around her, his beard tickled her cheeks. 

She clung to his shirt and sighed. 

“I won’t be long,” he whispered. “Just gotta go smile for a thousand photos or so.” 

She groaned. “I don’t wanna let go.” 

He laughed and squeezed her tight. “Me either.”

The kitchen was bright, the lights burned her eyes. She stumbled into a chair and hit her foot against the island. 

Dean was there every step, calling her name, leading her through the worst pain she’d ever experienced. 

“You can do this,” he shouted, urging her to move faster. “Just a little farther. Come on!” 

She pumped her arms, dodged the sparse furniture in the living room, raced for the front door. 

It was locked, bolted and chained. 

“Almost there, kid. Almost there.” 

She focused hard, willing her fingers to cooperate. 

The man shouted from the basement, loud and angry. Dean looked back over his shoulder, and flinched. 

“You gotta hurry, Y/N-”

The chain was the hardest part. Her fingers were numb and tingling; she slipped more than once. 

Boots thudded on linoleum. 

“Come on!” 

She wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the cold night air. The moon was full and bright, the sky clear and inky black. 

She took a breath and steadied herself; bare feet sinking into the snowy lawn. 

Dean was across the street already, silently urging her on with a waving hand and desperate expression. 

Flashing lights pulled her gaze away and she smiled. They’d found her. 

Sirens blared. 

She took a step toward the street. 

Dean shouted her name. 

She smiled. 

A shot rang out and her world fell into darkness. 

Jensen collapsed. 

His knees hit the ground first, then his hands. His palms scraped against the gravel but the sting was irrelevant. 

Someone was touching him, grabbing at his shoulders, trying to help him up, but he shouted and pushed them away. He didn’t want help. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t want anything. 

His chest burned, his heart raged against his ribcage. The earth beneath him opened up, shattered like his soul. 

“Jensen…” 

He looked up into his own dark eyes. Eyes he’d seen in the mirror for years. Eyes that he’d cried with, laughed with, died with a thousand times. 

Dean sighed. A single tear slid down his cheek.  

“I’m sorry.”

Jensen closed his eyes and Dean faded into nothingness, swept away by the freezing January wind. 

“Keep her safe, Dean,” he whispered. “Stay with her.” 

“Always.”

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[tiktaalic]

Factors that led to destiel:

Longevity (dragging bush america television where laughing at gay men is quick it’s easy and it’s free into not only obama’s america where gay marriage is legal but trumpbiden america where we are experiencing the double edged sword of corporations pulling pride decorations while your college still makes cis people put their pronouns in their email signature)

Isolation (a hug on any other show isn’t gay it’s just a hug but on supernatural it’s an act of affection rarely given out and when it is it’s reserved for blood relatives before the grip loosens slightly 8 or so years in and friends (of who there are few) (all of who are sexually unavailable) are also allowed a brief hug. With the notable exception of cas who is not just getting hugged but is getting ran into with force and Held and rocked)

Jensen ackles is a bad actor (jensne ackles is a bad actor)

Misha collins is normal about gay people (went I can be gay for pay which will get me a “steady” gig for a decade or so which will let me provide for my family)

[likeabitchylamb]

i'm gonna ramble about my favorite characters in supernatural because it changes so much as the show goes on and each character is different in each season and with each writer. Like, Sam in the early seasons with the demon blood, his brand of daddy issues, his trying to be good but everyone including heaven is telling him he's nothing more than a demon blood-drinking vessel of Lucifer, and he'll sacrifice himself to save the world and stop the apocolapse. oh my god i think about that every five minutes. he's just a long, shaggy-haired, too-tall, and too-kind young man. he sees the best in everyone, and tries to redeem monsters when he can because if he can save them, he can save himself, right? and later on I think about the soulless sam and hallucinating lucifer and the ramifications of being in the cage for so long, and all that so often. but then... idk he has his moments from time to time, but it felt like his character finished and just needed a woman to pair off with because TV character arcs always end with characters marrying, but he didn't even properly get that? he married an off-screen woman after his actual love interest DIED!

then we get dean, who started out as the typical beer-loving cool womanizer dude who loves his family, his car, and hunting things. then he gets broken down as the show goes on into exploring his daddy issues, and it was never something i really fully loved until later on, mostly because the show was always so insistent on keeping his Cool Status at first. then he did and it was always so good. but the show always put a beer back in his hand, a gun in his pocket, and I always left the season feeling like there was more to be explored. he can yell, scream, and cry, but he was never allowed to truly grow from those experiences. he died a hunter, after explicitly showing that was the last thing he wanted.

casiel. oh my god i love castiel. he very quickly became my favorite character above sam with his lack of understanding social queues and his relationship with heaven. ohhhhhh my GOD his relationship with heaven. that scene at the bench where he's begging for clarification and a sign and for god to talk to him????? I'm sobbing. at times i felt like his character's arcs were forced, or his arc was too quick, or off-screen, but that's a by-product of the studio keeping him as a side character so misha had a max number of episodes to show up in. i really hate not seeing "starring: misha collins" because misha really is the heart of the character. just like everyone, but especially misha. he kept castiel around and brought him to life beyond what was expected and that was how it was from day fucking one of his portrayal. oh my god.

also, adam! because his bitterness and spite and hatred always felt So Real. imagine you're him, and your dad travels for his job, but comes to baseball games and he's nice and all. then he disappears and suddenly two men, kinda older than you, show up saying all sorts of crazy shit. they're your father's children from his first marriage before his wife died when they were super young -what?- and his job was hunting monsters -what the fuck?- and you're actually a dark secret in his life and they are fucking pissed cause he was such a shit dad to him -what the FUCK?- oh, and he's dead, killed by a demon -what the actual FUCK- then you get possessed by -get this- the archangel Michael and before you can even begin to properly process that angels exist and the apocolapse is happening because you're still reeling over the fact that your dad was a deadbeat to his two other children who were raised to hunt monsters and your family was like a vacation getaway for him so he can pretend to be normal instead of raising his two other children properly, but you can't think about THAT because oh my god sam took control of lucifer and dragged you and Michael, btw in the same body, down to the hell. but not normal hell, oh no, this is the cage where time is so much faster and you're there for hundreds of years and lucifer is torturing sam and it's awful and you're stuck there with Michael and wow, did he ever say goodbye to his mom (note: i forget if his mom is even alive or talked about, but i assume so) Then you get brought back, and of COURSE YOU HATE EVERYONE!!!