#missouri was like a ghost town

[hadesoftheladies]

i thought this was a funny joke until i started watching basketball and literally all the medicine ads are like this. north america is hell you cannot tell me otherwise.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 32

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 4360

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Premonition, Talk of Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 32

The warmth of the morning clung to you even after you ended the call, Missouri’s voice still echoing in your mind. You let the phone fall from your ear, absently staring at it as you tried to piece together what this meeting could mean. Dean’s arm stayed wrapped around you, a steadying anchor, and the concern in his eyes mirrored the tension humming through you.

Taking a breath, you turned to him, meeting his gaze. “She said Pamela gave her my number, but I don’t know anything about her except what she just told me—that Cole’s being moved and she wants to meet today. I didn’t get the chance to ask her anything else.”

Dean’s brows furrowed, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Missouri… I’ve heard my Dad mention her, back when I was a kid. Never met her, though.” He shifted closer, his thumb brushing your hand in quiet reassurance. “If Pameal trusts her, that’s one thing, but if she’s gonna meet us here, we’re playing this as safe as possible.” Relieved he was on the same page, you nodded, reaching for your phone again, “Exactly. I’m not stepping out of here until three days after your birthday, and neither are you. Jodi’s the safest option.”

Dean gave a subtle nod but chuckled at how protective of him you were, a wave of adoration trickling through the connection, pulling a smile from you. You dialed Jodi’s number, and you explained the situation to her the moment it connected. True to her form, she was already on her way and ready to act if anything felt off. As you hung up, Dean leaned over and gave you a quick peck on the cheek before climbing out of bed. 

We’re gonna need coffee for this.

You laughed softly at his whispered words and followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter near the pot, just to watch him. It was hard not to relax, watching him move around the kitchen, getting the coffee pot set up. His movements were unhurried, his hair still tousled from sleep. However, the moment he was done, he moved to stand in front of you, his hands resting comfortably on your hips with that adorable, goofy smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

“You know how incredibly beautiful you are in the morning,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips ghosting over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

A blush crept up your cheeks. “Tease,” you mumbled, resting your hands on his chest.

“Yeah, but I know you don’t mind a little teasing.” His low chuckle was warm against your skin as he picked you up in one fluid motion.

The sudden movement made you squeal in surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around the back of his neck to hold on. He didn’t want you focusing on Cole or meeting Missouri. The two of you had shared an intimate moment before the phone call from Missouri, and he intended to keep you distracted. At least when you were distracted, you were relaxed and even got playful. The tricky part would be keeping his thoughts from delving into detailed fantasies and his body from reacting to the closeness.

“I swear, you just like torturing us both,” you teased, meeting his gaze.

His lips slowly pulled into a very happy smile as he gently set your ass on the counter, his hands still resting on your hips. “Helps build the anticipation,” he winked, gave you a quick peck on the cheek, then moved away to pour you each a cup of coffee. He had to move away. The moment your legs had wrapped around his waist, all he could think about was pressing you against a wall and showing you just how much he loved and wanted you.

“See, you flustered us both,” you chuckled, watching as he tried to focus on pouring the coffee into the cups.

“It was so worth it,” he smirked, his voice low, feeling your arousal through the connection.

Dean gently helped you off the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. The look of absolute love mixed with desire made your entire body hum and your lips part. The tension between the two of you at that moment was palpable, but instead of pushing you further, he gave you that teasing smirk and handed you one of the cups of coffee. Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, you took the cup and tried to calm your racing heart. He really was making it difficult to wait till his birthday, but at the same time, everything he did helped you get more comfortable with the idea of going all the way with him. You shook your head a little, pushing the thoughts away as you followed him into the living room.

However, after you sat beside him, you felt that familiar churn in your stomach: guilt? But it was coming through the connection, and you looked at him, tilting your head a bit. Dean’s eyes were on his coffee, but he was in his head. When he felt your hand on his arm, it snapped him out of his thoughts. “About last night…” he started, and you could feel the wave of guilt and worry breaking through the connection. “I should’ve told you about Cole’s arrest. I just… I wanted you to be able to relax, not worry about it.”

That soft smile found your lips as he spoke, even if he couldn’t meet your gaze. “Dean, I get it. Honestly, I probably would’ve freaked out. I trust you, and I know you wouldn’t keep something from me for no reason.” Your voice was soft but sincere, and relief filled his expression, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Don’t second-guess yourself. You’ve been looking out for me from day one.” Dean finally looked up at you, the look in your eyes matching the things moving through the connection, soothing him further. “I’ll work on that one,” his tone soft, and for a moment, time froze for him. He had been your rock for so long, and now you were being his. Sadly, reality always had a way of interrupting those moments with you. This time, it was your phone vibrating on the coffee table, and as your eyes moved to your phone, time resumed.

“Hi, Jodi,” you began, pausing when she spoke while Dean watched you. “Alright. Dean can let her in. The door is in the garage.” another pause. “Thanks, Jodi. I really appreciate this.” Then, you were hanging up and looking up at him again.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hand giving your knee a gentle squeeze before he stood up. His expression was calm, but you could feel the flicker of caution moving through him.

“Guess it’s time to meet Missouri,” he murmured, heading toward the first bunker door.

You watched as he opened it, then disappeared as he headed up the stairs, trying to keep your anxiety to a minimum. It was safe, Cole was in custody, and Jodi had confirmed that the woman who had spoken to you was really Missouri and not someone who worked for the Vaughts. Breath, Sweetheart. His whispered words brought that same comfort his presence did, allowing you to even out your breathing again. 

When Dean reached the top of the stairs, he opened the secret door. A woman with a confident yet warm presence was standing there. She was about average height, with sharp, knowing eyes that read Dean like an open book with bold print. Before Dean could open his mouth, though, she was already cutting him off. “You worry too much,” she said, her tone equal parts gentle chiding and playful, like her Southern accent wrapping the words with familiarity.

Dean chuckled and shook his head in amusement. “You must be Missouri. Come on, she’s downstairs.” He moved to the side, holding the door open. Once she was heading down the stairs, he closed the secret door and followed her.

The moment Missouri stepped into the living room, her gaze landed on you, and her expression instantly softened. She knew far more than she had said, but she had to confirm a few things before things could proceed further. Even when Dean closed that second door, her eyes never left you. “Yes, Dean. I’d love a cup of coffee,” she answered the question he had only thought about asking as she took a seat in one of the armchairs.

You blinked, looking between her and Dean, surprise evident on your face, “How…”

Missouri just smiled, “I’m like you and Pamela, dear. I just chose a different path than she did, and you’re still learning how to navigate everything. That’s why I’m here.” Dean grumbled a little under his breath as he headed to the kitchen. “Don’t cuss at me, boy,” Missouri snapped, throwing him a playful glare like an exasperated mother. Her scolding made you laugh a little, which earned you an amused smile from her. All Dean could do was look at her, mutter an apology, and grab her the cup of coffee he hadn’t even been able to verbally ask if she wanted, feeling like a chastised kid.

She returned her attention to you, knowing she had to choose her words carefully, her expression more serious now. “I work with PP&P. They send me in when they need more information on certain premonitions.” Seeing the confusion on your face, she smiled gently. “That’s the Premonition Processing and Protection System. Since the premonitions about Cole came from you, I need to confirm them.”

Before your emotions had a chance to begin spiraling, Dean was back at your side, his hand on your shoulder, instantly grounding you again. “I’m not sure how I can help. I don’t get any sort of warning when they happen, and it’s usually when I’m sleeping.” You explained, a little sadly.

Missouri’s face softened further, and her tone turned almost motherly. “Don’t feel bad about that, sweetie,” she reassured you. “It’s a gift that works in its own time, but we can always learn to understand it better.” She motioned for you to move closer. “Come here. I just need to hold your hand for a few moments. You don’t have to do anything. Premonitions stay in our minds the way we see them. They’ll replay in your mind, and I’ll see what you see.” Missouri explained gently as you gingerly moved to the other end of the couch.

You were a little apprehensive about having those replay in your mind, but there was something about her that made it easy to trust her. She also had a far gentler approach than Pamela had, that was for sure. After a deep breath, you offered her your hand. Missouri’s gaze stayed warm and steady, giving you the sense that, with your help, you’d be one step closer to being safe from Cole and his family.

Dean stayed on the other end of the couch, watching the scene unfold as Missouri closed her eyes. A gentle sensation brushed over your mind, and you let your eyes close as images began moving through your thoughts. It reminded you of swiping on videos to find one you’d want to watch. Missouri focused on your memories from only the last week, an occasional smile finding her lips at things that played out.

Then, that nightmare was there, and she felt your fear as it replayed in your mind while she watched it. With her years of experience, it brought a sharper quality to the nightmare that hadn’t been there when you dreamt it. Her gentle presence helped keep your fear from pulling you into its depths. 

Missouri had spent most of her life honing her skills as an empath, much like Pamela had. But unlike Pamela, she had allowed those around her to bring her comfort after losing her soulmate. With the support of her closest family and friends, she had learned how to live without keeping others out, letting their emotions and thoughts move through the space around her without consuming her. Now, she worked with the PP&P to find the key pieces in premonitions of young empaths, bringing the constants into clarity within the vision. Certain moments in the nightmare popped with color, standing out more than others: Cole’s jeep, the motel, and his words. Missouri went back further, to the other nightmare from before you saw Pamela. Again, certain things were in HD, while others were blurry, pixelated. This time, it was Cole, the gun, Dean and his death at Cole’s hand, and you. Missouri felt your fear rising again, like you were reliving those moments. With quick thought, she gently guided your thoughts to a pleasant memory, the one from that morning that you shared with Dean. The warmth of it calmed the anxiety and fear from those nightmares, letting the tension slip from your shoulders. When she felt you relax, she slowly released your hand, a comforting smile on her lips. Dean couldn’t move from his spot, having watched it all play out in his mind as well in far more detail than the flashed images had been.

“You two share a deep connection. I’ll take care of the issue with Cole. You’ll never have to worry about him again.” Her voice carried a conviction mixed with a gentleness you didn’t receive from strangers. She then turned to Dean, “Dean, walk me out, please.” 

Her request was enough to pull him from the terrifying images of your nightmares. As she stood, you looked up at her, “Wait… how do I get better at all of this?”

She smiled that same soft, understanding smile, a motherly look that was softer than you were used to seeing. “Things will get easier after you two bond.” And with that, she followed Dean out of the bunker, leaving you with a blush in your cheeks and bewilderment in your mind.

Pamela had brought up the bonding thing, too, and now, you were trying not to think about it too much. Tomorrow was Dean’s birthday, and the thought of going all the way still brought up your anxiety. It wasn’t as bad as it was before, but it wasn’t going away like you hoped it would. You slumped back into the cushions of the couch, now lying on your back and staring at the ceiling with your legs over the armrest. 

This sucks… 

Dean chuckled a little when he returned, seeing you like that on the couch. “You know…” he trailed off, and you heard the mischievousness in his tone before it ever slipped through the connection. Before you could tilt your head to look at him, he scooped you up in his arms, making you squeal and hold onto him tightly.

“I think we need a distraction from all this, and a movie won’t cut it,” he stated like it was fact as he headed down to the game room with you still in his arms. 

Looking up at him, you laid your head on his chest and relaxed. “And what’s down there that is any better at distracting me?” you asked teasingly, which made him smirk.

“The pool table,” he replied playfully, and your eyes went wide.

“What about the pool table?” You had to ask, trying not to think about the first night the two of you played and all the delicious things that had gone through your mind.

Dean chuckled as he set you down on the edge of the pool table, letting his hands rest on your hips. “I know the pool table distracts you,” he stated in that low, gruff tone that did things to you that you didn’t want to admit out loud.

It wasn’t the pool table. “Tease,” you grumbled, even if you did appreciate it.

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before he forced himself to walk away and grab the two cues the two of you always used. You carefully slid onto your feet, but the moment you went to set up the balls, he stopped you with his free hand. “Here, hold these,” he whispered before nipping your earlobe, instantly flustering you.

If anything, he knew how to distract you in the simplest of ways, and no matter how much it flustered you, you appreciated all of it. You watched him as he racked the balls, that favorite smirk on his lips, and the almost skip in his step. There were so many small moments where you fell in love with him all over again.

He didn’t comment on the emotions that wrapped around him, enjoying the comfort they brought. Dean just wasn’t sure how to help you get past your fears. They were always there, no matter what you were feeling, tugging on his soul and moving through the back of his mind like a light fog. 

“Shit,” he mumbled out in the middle of the game, then headed to the freezer as you looked at him puzzled. “Forgot to pull something out for dinner,” Dean added as he disappeared into the freezer. You couldn’t help but giggle. He’d been trying to keep you distracted and had ended up distracting himself.

The two of you finished the game before heading back upstairs. He’d chosen a roast since he didn’t have to worry about defrosting time, and it always came out juicier when cooked partially frozen. You watched as he moved around the kitchen, seasoning the frozen chunk of meat in the roasting pan. When you felt frustration trickle through the connection, you gave Dean a puzzled look.

What’s wrong?

He chuckled, I don’t have any vegetables to put in with the roast.

You went over and snaked your arms around his waist since he had finally stopped moving around so much. “I’m sure it’ll taste wonderful, even without the vegetables,” you told him, leaning your head against his back as one of his hands rested over yours.

“When we can finally get out of here, I’m stocking your kitchen,” he teased, making you laugh a little.

“Only if you’re the one cooking in it,” you replied softly, holding him just a little closer for a moment before moving away to watch him again. The question he had asked you nearly a week ago now, was still toying its way through your mind, and you still hadn’t given him an answer… yet.

He glanced over at you, raising an eyebrow, but the small smile tugging at his lips gave away his emotions before they ever mingled with yours through the bond. “Are you asking me to move in?” even his tone revealed his hopes.

“Maybe,” you teased him playfully, a smile toying with your lips.

Dean turned back to his task, trying to keep as straight a face as possible. “Might have to ask my girlfriend how she feels about that,” he quipped but glanced at you out of the corner of his, hoping you were in a playful mood and you’d take it how he meant it.

“Well, I’m sure she won’t be too mad, since you haven’t left my side in over three months,” you teased back, enjoying the lightness in the air. It helped stave the worry and fear away.

Dean’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts again, “Touche’.” 

Before he slipped the roast into the oven, you headed to the bathroom for a shower. After grabbing a clean pair of pajamas, you sat down on the toilet and carefully began removing the bandages on your feet, inspecting the cuts and scrapes. They were finally healed enough you wouldn’t have to rebandage them after your shower.

Then, you focused on the bandages on your wrists. The skin wasn’t nearly as irritated as it had been before and nearly completely healed. They were still tender in places, but they wouldn’t need to be wrapped again, either. A smile found your lips. Your physical wounds healing like they had was almost symbolic, a mirror of your emotional wounds healing.

The heat from the water soothed the stress in your muscles. Tomorrow… You had been keeping those thoughts to yourself, still wanting to surprise him. There was still anxiety that came with that thought, but it was far less now, only slightly tightening around your chest. A shaky breath left your lips as the water cascaded over your body, your heart pounding again, this time, though with anticipation.

Dean had watched you go, heard the shower running, and had been sitting on the couch, lost in thought, mostly about you. He knew you were keeping something from him, he just hadn’t been able to figure out what, and he was trying not to let doubt and worry creep into his mind. The steady stream of the water kept pulling his gaze toward the hall. 

Then his mind wandered back to when you’d slipped, when you had first noticed your mark, pulling his lips into a small smile. How your skin looked so soft. How he had wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close, letting his hands learn every curve of your body. Dean shook his head, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He couldn’t let his mind wander now, as the water had finally stopped.

He almost chuckled to himself at the irony of it. Just as his mind had wanted to play out a beautiful fantasy, you would be joining him soon, and he’d be fighting to keep his hands to himself. You were always beautiful to him, but there was something about you, after you showered, that drew him like a moth to a flame, and he still hadn’t been able to put his finger on why.

“You okay?” you asked, hair still damp and wearing one of his flannels with a pair of sleep shorts, making your way into the living room.

A smile found his lips as he looked up at you. Damn. Might let you steal my clothes more often. He bit his bottom lip, eyeing you up and down, memorizing how you looked at that moment, including the blush that found your cheeks. You ducked your head a little before joining him on the couch.

“I didn’t realize it was yours,” you mumbled a little shyly, snuggling up with him.

Dean chuckled, “I don’t mind. Just means that when I want to wear it, I get to take it off of you.” The way his voice had dropped, the low tease of his words, and the desire that flooded through the connection quickened your breathing almost instantly. 

You took a shaky breath, swallowing hard, but before you could respond, he noticed your wrists. Dean shifted a little, making you sit up as he gently took one of your hands in his. He softly ran his thumb over the faded marks from the ropes that had bound you. Your focus was on his expression and the emotions that mingled with your own.

The pain that you’d gotten hurt, the guilt that he hadn’t been able to keep you safe, the relief that you were okay, and the determination that he’d never let it happen again softened your expression while melting your heart. “I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault, so please don’t blame yourself.”

The tenderness of your words pulled his gaze, his green eyes meeting yours with a love that warmed your soul. Just as a soft smile found your lips, he leaned closer, cupping your cheek. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of them seemed like enough. So, instead, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. The way his lips moved with yours mirrored what danced through the connection, everything he couldn’t tell you in words, and you reciprocated, resting your hand on his chest over his heart.

Dean's hand slowly moved along your neck, letting his fingers tangle in your still-damp hair as he held you close while his other hand slowly found your hip. Your quiet moan was lost on his lips, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. There was no rush to his movements as your tongues danced together, and that warmth spread through you.

You focused on him, on his lips on yours, the safety you felt when he was close, and the words Pamela had left you with, a leap of faith. When you didn’t pull away as he deepened the kiss further, his heart sped up. In the back of his mind, he reminded himself that dinner was in the oven, and he’d need to keep an eye on the time so it didn’t overcook.

It was typically these moments that reality had always managed to interrupt for the two of you, but this one was different. The phone didn’t ring. The alarm from the security room didn’t go off. And dinner had just been put in the oven only a half hour prior, so it had time still to cook. This moment, the two of you got lost in each other’s arms. Neither of your hands slipped under clothing this time, but they did go exploring while the kiss between the two of you stayed intimate, loving, and passionate. There was tenderness in every touch, a curiosity, and a need to gingerly explore each other. Your emotions danced with his beautifully the more you were able to push your fear aside, focusing on his hope, even if it was a slightly foreign emotion to you.

When Dean finally pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing between you, both of you still holding onto each other. Your eyes met his, those green orbs mirroring your own emotions, bringing a soft smile to your lips. Neither of you had to speak those three little words at that moment. It was blatantly reflected back to you as he drank you in, that feeling wrapping you both in a warm blanket neither of you thought you’d ever find, Home.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 33

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[angelsdean]

the middle chunk of s1 is full of episodes depicting the monstrous side of humans. 1x10, yes the motw is an evil ghost doctor, but the man was already evil before he died, torturing patients. then 1x11, yes the scarecrow is doing the killing, but it's the townspeople that are the real monsters, orchestrating the kidnapping and sacrifices of innocent people to ensure the prosperity of their town. then 1x12, Sue Ann traps the reaper to do her bidding, targeting innocent people who she personally views as undesirable and deserving of death. 1x13, ghost truck is haunted by racist dude that was already monstrous before he died. 1x14, shows the monstrous side of humans in how abusive max's father and uncle were. max is also depicted as the "motw", albeit a sympathetic one. and then 1x15, the benders are just humans who are completely monstrous, kidnapping and hunting innocent people for sport.

and it's just really, really interesting that so much of s1 focused on showing that humans can definitely be monsters too. that a monster isn't always about what you are, but what you do. which is important when it comes to all of sam's special children stuff. because he's so worried about becoming some kind of monster. he's worried that his psychic abilities make him a freak and Other. and he starts projecting a lot of those fears onto dean, assuming that dean "looking at him weird" means that dean thinks he's a monster. but the thing is, dean doesn't think that! dean keeps telling sam they'll figure this out and that he personally won't let anything happen to him. yes, dean is worried, but not so much about sam having these abilities but more-so what could happen to sam because of these abilities. they don't know if these visions are dangerous! they don't know if there are side effects! they don't know what the cause of these visions are, and that is scary. dean's number one job has always been to protect sam, so yea these sudden abilities are worrying when they have no idea what could happen to sam because of them. but dean tells sam point-blank in 1x14 that simply having psychic abilities does not make him the same as max or any other "monster." he reminds sam the difference is in what you do.

DEAN What are you talking about. The dude's nothing like you.

SAM Well. We both have psychic abilities, we both...

DEAN Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third.

simply having psychic abilities is not what makes max a monster. it's the fact that he's used those abilities to kill people. and while maybe the first two deserved it, the step-mom is innocent (and likely a victim herself). also they literally just worked with missouri, a psychic, and dean never expressed any negative view of her or desire to kill her for having those abilities. because the psychic abilities and powers are not the problem and not the thing that makes one a monster. just like later in s2 the good vampires get a pass. because it's not about what you are, but what you do.

[witchyfashion]

Discover tantalizing recipes, spine-tingling stories, and historic photos from the most notoriously haunted locations across America in this fun and fascinating cookbook. Paranormal investigator and Kindred Spirits co-host Amy Bruni leads you through eerie hotels, haunted homes, hellish hospitals, and spooky ghost towns, giving you stories and a recipe from each place.

Whether you're in the mood for Lizzie Borden's meatloaf or want to serve up spooky prison stories along with sugar cookies from Alcatraz, Food to Die For is your guide to ghoulish gastronomy.

One of America's favorite ghost hunters, Amy Bruni takes you to mysterious hotels, eerie ghost towns, and possessed pubs in this delightfully sinister collection of stories and recipes. Each of the nearly 60 locations in Food to Die For includes:

Vintage photographs and charmingly creepy stories rooted in history

A noteworthy recipe associated with the people or place

Full-color, captivating, and hauntingly styled food photos to inspire a killer kitchen experience

Enjoy creepy recipes like:

Southern Fried Chicken from the Missouri State Penitentiary

Sheboygan Asylum Caesar Salad

Cornbread inspired by the Villisca Axe Murder House

Absinthe Frappé from the Old Absinthe House

Ernest Hemingway's Bloody Mary from Hemingway Home & Museum

Vegetable Soup from Waverly Hills Sanatorium

This terrifyingly tasty cookbook will bewitch anyone who:

Has a taste for the paranormal and a hunger to try new foods

Loves history, travel, and culinary curiosities

Enjoys entertaining guests in unique and memorable ways

Would get goosebumps making a recipe written 300 years ago

History buffs, thrill-seekers, and foodies will all get shivers seeing the past come to life with every enchanted recipe and delicious tale from Food to Die For.

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[samwinchesterpregnant]

this is just a little unfinished something (i’m not going to post it anywhere else until i edit it it’s literally a notes app fic so i’m sorry for everything)

sam is jealous of dean’s small-town girlfriend while dad goes off to hunt a ghost in missouri. he resorts to bad behavior to remedy this.

sam is a teenager but it’s sfw

they’re in pike county in the dead, dry peak of summer and there’s nothing but corn fields, fire flies, and casey’s gas stations as far as the eye can see.

but dean’s found something to do, he always does. some pretty little thing who’s dad worked at the button factory in pearl and left her alone all day to find her own fun.

looking at her makes sam want to spit. she’s got this farmer’s daughter thing going on, with long, sun-streaked hair down her back and freckles all over her nose and her shoulders. she shows dean around town, they make out at an abandoned house the neighborhood kids are scared of and she takes him to a dusty old lake where al capone supposedly dumped his mistresses aborted babies— or something nasty like that. sam tags along, because of course he does.

dad is checking out a haunting just across state lines in missouri making some old lady’s walls bleed. he told them to stay put and lay low. sam’s days stretch on; long and endless and tepid. there’s nothing better to do besides trail behind dean like a lost puppy and shoot bethany or becca or becky or whatever her name is rude glances over dean’s shoulder when his head is turned.

he just doesn’t like her. if she weren’t hanging around so much, sam reasons, everything would suck marginally less. they would still be in butt-fuck midwest nowhere, but at least they’d be able to do whatever they wanted instead of whatever she wanted. and dean wouldn’t be tripping over himself like an idiot trying to look cool to impress her.

in any case, sam took no measures to disguise his disapproval, because becca or brinley or brianna seemed to have reached much the same conclusion.

she bristled visibly when sam answered the door to the creaky, old, half furnished-by-a-dead-lady house they were renting for dirt cheap in pittsfield. sam had overheard, in muffled protests, her suggestion that sam not join them on their trip to the movies that evening:

“wouldnt it be nice, yknow, to just go somewhere just us? get some privacy? i mean—“

“i don’t see what the big deal is. sammy likes ghostbusters, he won’t talk through it or anything.”

“dean, i just think—“

and then, there was the way she sometimes (sam swore) really truly startled when sam entered her line of vision. as if he was a snake in the yard hiding under a garden hose, one you couldn’t see until you were way too close. like he was a creepy crawly scaly sort of thing.

and it was true that this summer he had been feeling more like a creepy, crawly, scaly sort of thing than anything else. oftentimes, laying out in the grass in the flat midwestern heat, he felt like something was shifting beneath his skin, lurking like a latent disease— a gene gone wrong that just needed a flip to switch and activate something nightmarish inside him.

his outer appearance revealed none of this. he was, maybe, more comely than he’d ever been. freshly grown out of his puppy fat; legs impossibly long and lean, the bones in his face suddenly coy and cervine, skin golden and eyelashes sooty and downturned like a calf. it was almost as if these two developments went hand in hand. this latent urge— this dark feeling under his skin, and his sudden metamorphosis into something desirable. he surmised that maybe a missed tick bite had given him lyme disease. or maybe it was prions from curiously prodding roadkill on the lucky occasion. either way, sam winchester felt positively terminal.

regardless of all that (ticks and prions and snakes and bethany/breanne/brenda or whatever), what it really was about was dean, dean, dean.

sam was out of school for the summer, dad hadn’t taken dean with him to missouri, and so, thusly, naturally, it was time for dean to shine upon his brother with the unwavering and uninterrupted attention he was fully capable of giving.

this had been the way, ever since they were children. their summers were famous.

last summer, somewhere in nebraska, they’d stayed for two weeks in an abandoned house sam had broken into with a pair of pliers. dad had gone to find a werewolf in the neighboring county, and the boys, tired of the stuffy motel, had made their own vacation with a mattress pad and a flashlight and the hole in the ceiling on the top floor where they could see the stars. they’d found an old calendar from 1946, and some weird canning jars in the basement that looked like a science experiment.

it was still fun even when dean stepped on a rusty nail and sam had to pull it out (with the same pliers) and swore that if dean died of tetanus, he’d take himself out, too. unfortunately, it hadn’t come to that.

summer was supposed to be their time together. not dean and brittany and their third-wheel. sam latently wished they were sewn together.

to remedy this, sam made preparations.

the next time they were at breanna’s dull little rambler in griggsville, sam snuck off into the bathroom (which smelled vaguely of jasmine, cat piss, and mildew) and rifled through the drawers until he found a lavender conair brand hairbrush with a jelly handle covered in fine blonde strands. surreptitiously, he tugged a clump free from the bristles and shoved it into his pocket.

he returned to the living room where ghostface flickered on the television that sat on the tan carpet, feeling sort of smug. it wasn’t a difficult task, but he’d gotten what he needed.

smiling wryly in the way he knew revealed the dimples on his cheeks, he climbed back onto the couch and slung his bare legs over dean’s lap, socked-feet kicking in brenda’s direction. she shifted away with a frown as dean slung his arm around sam’s shoulders, his other hand coming up to rest on his bruised knees, drumming his fingers there.

bethany sat her chin in her palm, seeming to be withholding a look of mild disgust. sam beamed.

later that night, the hair went into a jar with:

a handful of graveyard dirt

a rancid lemon

shards of glass

a rusty nail

a few drops of blood

sam pissed in it and buried it in the backyard which should, allegedly, solve the problem.

[themusingsofafanficwriter]

The True Meaning of Family - Chapter 7

Summary: A found family Supernatural AU. Ophelia Humphries is an English 19-year-old who is just trying to finish her online history degree when she receives a letter from two brothers she never knew she had.

A/N: Chapter 7 is here! Sorry for the little break, life got in the way. If you want to keep more up to date, I'd suggest heading over to AO3. If you didn't see the previous chapters, you can find the master list here. Let me know what you guys think!

T/W: Death of both adults and children.

Dean was right, this seemed like a simple haunting.

A 53-year-old woman went missing, and then another, and then another.

“Did anything happen in this town?” Ophelia asked Sam eventually.

“Uhhh not much can happen in a town the size of Reeds Spring, Missouri. So if we look through old records, we might find something that stands out.” Sam said with a smile.

Hours passed.

Ophelia made lunch. Then she made dinner. Then she went and found a sweet treat. Soon enough it was almost midnight when Sam quickly turned his laptop around to face her.

“A girl went missing… 40 years ago.” He said slowly enough so Ophelia could connect the dots herself.

“These women would have been 13? Did they know the girl that went missing?” There was a slight tone of excitement in her voice. “Do we know what happened to the girl?”

Sam’s face was soft and nurturing, like a teacher who was proud of a student.

“Okay, slow down, we’ve not solved it yet. If I give you the girl’s name, can you look at any records about her and I’ll work the angle that these women may have known her.”

He paused as he turned the laptop back to face him and skimmed the rest of the article.

“Okay, it looks like her name is Ruby Evans and yeah, she was 13 when she went missing after not making it home from a friend’s party. They found her body 13 days later near where she went missing.”

“Does it say who her friend was?”

“Yeah, and….” Sam paused as he checked the recent missing women articles. “The friend whose party it was, Amanda-Rose Jameson, was the first woman who went missing.”

“Okay, so the ghost is 100% Ruby then?”

“Most likely. I’ll go let Dean know that we’ve found the ghost’s details. Do we know if she was buried or cremated?”

“Does it matter?”

“Oh big time.” Sam paused slightly before explaining. “If she has been buried then we can go find her grave, dig it up, burn her bones and then that usually does it. If she has already been cremated then we have to find any small mementos that she could still be tied to like baby teeth or a locket of hair.”

“Gross.” Was all Ophelia could muster to say.

Sam just nodded in response. Ophelia scanned the old newspaper obituary.

“Looks like her parents just buried her in the local cemetery. They asked people to come wearing purple as it was her favourite colour… How sweet!”

A slight wave of sadness crept into her chest as she pictured a family grieving the loss of their child

“That's definitely a start. Nice work ‘Phelia, I'll talk to Dean and we can get Ruby to the other side soon.”

Then the waiting began.

Her brothers left early that next morning, hoping that they could dig up Ruby’s bones and get back within the day.

When they weren't back by midnight that night, Ophelia began to worry.

‘I’m sure everything is fine. They do this all the time, it is quite literally their job.’ She thought to herself. But the waiting and not knowing was excruciating.

She had done everything she could to keep busy.

Cleaned the kitchen, bathrooms and other communal areas. Wrote a paper, started writing another for university, and attended a meeting with her personal tutor.

“Oh, a new background Ophelia? Have you moved again?” Her tutor asked from her Zoom window.

Dr Ahn, a plump British-Korean woman with a speciality in Asian mythology and a love of loud printed clothing, seemed genuinely concerned for all of the people under her tutelage. She had made it known to Ophelia over the last term that she always could talk to her about Ophelia’s home life.

The Docter cocked her head prompting Ophelia’s reply.

“Yeah… I have. Umm, some family from my dad’s side reached out and I’m now living with them.” She said cautiously.

“Oh well, that’s good!” Dr Ahn replied with enthusiasm. “And how are your studies?”

Yet, after all of that, Ophelia hadn’t heard from Sam or Dean since they had arrived at Ruby Evans' parents home.

Not knowing what else to do, she reached out to Cas.

A whoosh of wings and the angel was standing in the doorway of the library.

“Is everything okay Ophelia?” He asked.

“Uhh.” She started. Not wanting to make a big deal out of nothing.

“I can read your mind if you’re unsure how to tell me.”

“Oh no. It’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “Have you heard from Sam or Dean…?”

“They have not reached out to me”

“Is that normal?”

“Quite normal.” The angel had a quizzical tone. “Are you okay Ophelia?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sooo fine.” She said, trying to convince herself.

“I can tell when you are lying, even when you try to cover it with sarcasm.” Cas said as he crossed the room towards the couch Ophelia was sitting on.

“Right, yeah.” She sighed. “I guess I was expecting more updates? They said they’d be home by now and I’m trying to be so chill about it.” Ophelia’s head was in her hands, hiding her face and the cringing that she was now experiencing.

“That is understandable.” The angel replied as he sat next to her. “Would you like me to check in with your brothers?”

“That seems weird. Like they are obviously good at this and I know nothing about any of this.” Ophelia gestured to the bunker around them.

After a long pause, Cas placed his hand on Ophelia’s back and gently rubbed in small circles. Ophelia had not realised how anxious she was about this until the small kind gesture of Cas.

“They are not used to having someone that would want them to check in with.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She said with a sigh.

“You should eat and get sleep. They will be home soon.” Cas said finally as he stood.

Taken aback by his abruptness, Ophelia just blinked in response. Another second passed and when she opened her eyes again, the angel was gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello.”

“Castiel! What are you doing here?” Sam asked with a start.

Sam was sitting on a single bed in a motel, papers strewn around him and his laptop propped up on a stack of books.

“I am here about Ophelia.” He replied.

“Is she okay?” Dean asked cautiously as he came out of the bathroom.

“Have either of you contacted her?”

The brothers glanced at each other. “No, why? Is something wrong?” Sam questioned.

Cas sat on the second single bed and studied the two men.

“She, in her words, is trying to be ‘sooo fine’ and ‘so chill about it’.” Castiel said, mimicking Ophelia’s likeness. “But she is simply worried about you both.” “Oh. Is that it? She’s worried about us?” Sam questioned further.

“Yes.”

“She knows we know what we are doing right?” Dean replied.

“Yes.” Was all Cas responded again.

“I’m confused.” Dean stated.

“Oh shoot, is that the time?” Sam said with a start as he checked his phone. “We told her we would be home hours ago, Dean.”

“Right but she knows that this sort of thing takes time. And… and cases can evolve and become more complicated right? Like, she knows that?” Dean gestured to the papers.

Sam looked guilty. “How would she know that Dean?” he replied.

A flash of guilt crossed Dean’s face too. “I’ll call her.” He replied.

“It is best that you do not mention that I told you about this. Remember she is trying to be ‘so chill about it’.” Castiel once again mimicked the Winchester daughter.

Ophelia had not been asleep long when her phone rang.

Dean’s name flashed across the screen. She sat up as she clicked the answer button.

“Hey kiddo, sorry for not getting in touch earlier. The Ruby case took a little bit of a turn.”

‘Remember, you’re so chill.’ Ran through Ophelia’s mind. “Oh, no worries!” She said in as chipper tone as she could. “Uhh, how is it going?”

“Ahh well, you know how these things go.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I quite literally have no idea how these things go.”

“Oh, yeah right.”

The phone went silent for a moment.

“Well, we found her grave, dug it up and lit it on fire.” Dean started explaining the case. “We thought that would be it but another one of the women who was at that party went missing.”

Ophelia nodded absent-mindedly as Dean continued.

“So, probably some baby teeth or something kicking about at her parents' places, we thought.”

“So we were wrong about it being Ruby? Ophelia asked.

“Oh no it’s definitely her, kiddo, you and Sam did solid work.” Relief filled Ophelia.

“We’re thinking it’s an object that’s keeping her here. We saw her bedroom, her mom has kept it as a shrine to Ruby. It could be anything in there.” Dean explained.

“Did she have a childhood toy she loved? Or maybe a diary?” Ophelia asked as she looked around her new room that was already filled with mementos of her childhood. “This is a teenager, not a young child, ‘Phelia.” Dean replied softly.

“I am almost 20 years old and you have seen my room both here and at my mum’s place.”

“Point taken, but this is a shrine to her, where would you start, you know, as a teen girl and all that.” Dean said with a sigh.

Ophelia slouched back into bed, racking her brain for what she would love so much as a young teen that her spirit could attach itself to.

“What was Ruby like? A girly girl or more masculine or what?”

“She liked lots of things, horses mainly by the look of it.” Dean said.

“Did she compete?”

Dean looked over at Sam and repeated their sister’s question, there was a pause but eventually, Sam nodded.

“Look for her first big win ribbon or trophy.” Ophelia said. “I danced as a kid and the way I was obsessed with winning those medals and for a while I slept with my first place medal on my bedside table every night.”

“That’s a great place to start. I’ll let you get some sleep. Thanks, kiddo.” Dean said.

“Yeah, no worries Dean.”

“Oh and kiddo, We really are sorry for not calling earlier.” Dean replied with a genuine tone.

“It’s really not a problem, Dean. Don’t worry about it.” Ophelia kept her voice even as she picked at a hangnail on her thumb.

The phone went dead and she was alone once again. Eventually, Ophelia fell back asleep and hours passed.

She didn’t hear when, almost 10 hours later, Sam and Dean re-entered the Bunker and started debriefing with Cas.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that morning, Dean walked over to Ophelia’s room and gently knocked.

A groggy Ophelia woke to Dean pushing the door to her room open and poking his head around it.

“Can I come in?”

She hummed a reply and gestured for him to sit on the end of her bed. She flattened her curls as Dean made his way across the room.

“Your thinking was right, Ruby’s spirit was tied to a first-place dressage medal she had won earlier that year.”

“Oh, nice.” Ophelia finally said. “Did you find those women?”

“We found one of them alive.” Dean paused. “Ruby had killed the others by the time we got there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did she do it?” Ophelia finally asked.

“Well, they killed her.”

“Wait? Really?”

“Yeah, those girls weren’t her friends. They only invited her to that party to make fun of her and, I don’t know kiddo, they ended up killing her.”

The siblings were silent.

“So this was revenge?” She said.

“Yeah. Those women are the real evil if you ask me.” Dean said casually.

“I suppose they are.”

“Why don’t you come sit with us, ‘Phelia.” Dea said as he stood.

She nodded and threw back her covers. Her bright PJs instantly brought a smile to Dean’s face.

The morning was filled with the brothers recounting the final fight with Ruby’s spirit and similar fights that they had had, as well as the promise that they would be better at keeping her in the loop.

“You could always take me with you. Not on the hunt as such but, like, I could stay in the hotel or wherever you are staying and just do research or my uni work… or whatever.”

The two brothers looked at each other.

“Yeah, maybe, kiddo.” Dean said finally. The hesitation was clear in his voice.

“It could be helpful Dean.” Sam said finally.

“Okay, if you two are going to be like this, I want you,” He pointed at Ophelia, “trained in how to fire a gun and basic hand-to-hand combat before we take you out of this bunker and to the location of a case.

Sam and Ophelia looked at each other in astonishment, not believing how easy that had been.

“And I will determine when you’re ready.” Dean quickly added.

There it was, the caveat that made his relenting make sense, but at least they had made progress.

[voluptuarian]

so since June I've been interning in a very cool history research lab project (paid, I might add) focused on black and indigenous history in Ohio. We spent a month learning to do real research (which I knew Nothing about, and that was my prime motivation for applying for this thing) including trips to museums, archives, meeting with descendants of groups/settlements we were studying and then doing a variety of research depending on where we focusing that week. Very cool!

Then in July we've each picked an area to continue researching on our own for. I'm working on studying a couple different mixed race settlements, including 2 Wyandot settlements, one set up before Removal, and the other after. The latter is Quindaro, Kansas, which is a ghost town now but like. This fucking town.

I want a Deadwood-style show about this place. I am not above attempting to write a full on book about it despite being an amateur in hopes of getting a Deadwood-style show about it.

It's a few years pre-Civil War, Kansas territory has been opened for settlement, and pro-slavery and anti-slavery factions are desperate to flip the state for their cause. There are already a couple pro-slavery settlements in place (particularly Wyandot) and the opposition is trying to get a foothold in as well.

Meanwhile the Wyandot tribe was getting pushed out of Ohio and forced into Kansas and even though they were promised treaty land, end up having to buy it themselves.

(also tumblr spell check doesn't recognize "Wyandot," and I'm putting that down as a microaggression. Anyway.) This guy, Abelard Guthrie, who's an attorney, and abolitionist, and is married to a Wyandot woman, manages to convince the Wyandot and some backing companies to establish an anti-slavery town on reservation land. They set up the town as a company, with the majority of the land under ownership of a group of individuals (most Wyandot) with Abelard as vp. They name it Quindaro, for his wife's Wyandot name.

Now Abelard and his wife Nancy's story is interesting enough-- supposedly her dad hated Abelard and hoped the relocation would end the relationship; Abelard wouldn't be put off and followed them to buttfuck Kansas anyway; Nancy's dad even tried to press charges claiming Abelard had taken shots at him (no idea yet how that went!)

But the town itself has so much going on! It was a racially mixed community, with the black population growing exponentially once the war broke out. The Wyandot originally owned most of the land and ran a bunch of local businesses, including the hotel (current Kansas Wyandot Chief Judith is actually descended from that guy!) It was predominantly a passionately anti-slavery population (and in competition with its pro-slavery neighbors as a result) meanwhile the president of the town company, Joel Walker, was not only from a prominent Wyandot family but also strongly pro-slavery and may have even owned slaves. Like I need to know what everyday business was like between these people.

They had a local newspaper published by this guy, Morgan, who had his hands in dozens of pies and ended up a Methodist minister; initially it also has a woman assistant editor, Clarina Nichols, who's a woman's right activist and an abolitionist, and for whom this is far from her first or last rodeo. They also had a fucking cannon they nicknamed Lazarus that they had to smuggle in to avoid it getting stolen by their rivals in Wyandot, which eventually got donated to the Union once war broke out. Eventually the pro-temperance faction in town was able to get prohibition passed, and groups went around busting whiskey casks, while for months after people were getting in trouble for having their stash discovered. The town was also seemingly heavily involved in the underground railroad-- to the point that pro-slavery hooligans from Missouri rammed and sank the town's ferry, convinced it was being used to transport escaped slaves. William Tecumseh Sherman lived there for awhile and might have practiced law there for a bit, and there's a (probably legendary) story that John Brown stayed there for a few days. Outside town there was a tavern that served as a pit-stop for the local stagecoach, originally run by a Wyandot guy (who I have not been able to find anything about) but which (esp once the war starts) is such a hang out for gangs of raiding soldiers that the locals (unsuccessfully) try to burn it down. Also the school that's founded there for free black students outlives the town to become Western University.

Once the town was no longer the only anti-slavery bulwark in Kansas it started to become less prosperous. Other regional issues, like a financial panic and a grasshopper invasion only worsened things. The town company partners started to fall out, and the Wyandot, for whom Abelard has been acting as tribal attorney, fired him. So the town is going belly up and Abelard is trying to sue his business partner for mismanagement-- meanwhile at some point Nancy's sister Margaret moved in with her and Abelard (I knew that already from tracking the family through like every census ever) and in the middle of suing people Abelard reportedly chases down and horsewhips the town company treasurer for having seduced Margaret, who was apparently "feeble-minded"?

The Civil War really devastated Quindaro though, first by causing the majority of the male population to abandon the place and enlist; then when soldiers getting stationed there decided to tear the place apart for firewood and supplies.

However a bunch of free and escaped black families start moving in around this time, and the Wyandot who had chosen to move into Indian Territory get pushed back to Quindaro to avoid the Confederates. So for awhile the population is bolstering and although the town isn't doing financially Great it's not the end yet. Abelard Guthrie, who by this time is obsessed with recouping his losses and is trying to petition the govmt to give his wife reserve lands from her mom's side (Shawnee), becomes legal representative to the new Wyandot group, too! And seems to have basically used that as a way of combining his ambitions with the Wyandot's whenever possible. He dies in fucking Washington DC still trying to get a Shawnee reserve grant under Nancy's name.

(The face of a man I would not be shocked to discover was of "excitable disposition.")

Anyway though, the town decays and recovers in leaps and starts-- a lot of it ends up just completely abandoned, while other parts get enveloped by Kansas City-- I think most of it is in ruins now but since the 80s they've worked on protecting the remains and now there are bunch of historic trails and stuff through the area.

I've barely scraped the surface on this place, and I want to know so much more about the personalities. My next goal in my research is to start tearing through the town newspaper; then it's probably going to be back to census-reading for awhile.

[thebranchesofshe]

Myra Mooney

"I know I shouldn't, but I feel bad about it. I'm guilty because I'm relieved. Isn't that funny? Feeling bad for feeling good? Death is funny that way."

Three words: protective, private, attentive.

Name: Myra Alice Devereaux Mooney

Date of Birth: October 15, 1934

Age as of Chapter I: 36

Height: 5'8"

Occupation: author of southern gothic ghost stories who is a parish secretary (she needed something to do).

Gender: 'she' but the way a boat is a 'she.'

Orientation: bisexual.

Background: Her father was of Osage and French descent. Travelling salesman after losing his land to a government-appointed 'guardian'. Her mother was of Irish descent and assumed she was marrying into money. They all lived in Missouri. Little sister died of polio, Myra survived, and one by one her family was whittled away. Her fiance abandoned her. She married his brother. Started writing. Widowed. Found Decaelo. Never left.

Favorite Treat: can't go wrong with coffee and pie.

Favorite Book: Wise Blood by Flannery O'Connor.

Favorite Book (that she wrote): The Haunting of Silverfield

Why does she write about ghosts so much?: they're naturally suited for metaphors.

Does she believe in them?: she doesn't feel like she has a choice not to.

Are she and the librarian...: lovers? Yes.

What troubles her?: a lot of things, but she's terrified of loss. Also probably chronic anxiety.

Who are her friends?: Warren Hart (her partner). Dr. Breyer (her sounding board). Thomasin Breyer (her surrogate little sister). Josephat Dubois (he's... Something). Marcel Robert (her work spouse).

And what is Julius to her?: her older sister.

Any enemies?: she would have to go out of her way to encounter them, but she thinks Valeria Coyle is a creep. She is averse to Cynthia Kline out of principle.

She works for the church, you said?: yes. She's the parish secretary.

Is she catholic?: sort of. Not really. Absolutely. No. Yes. She converted for her late husband. It's a pleasant routine.

What does she look like?: in any town but Decaelo, she would be the woman the neighborhood children thought was a witch despite being rather gentle and polite. Light brown skin, brown eyes, thick dark hair, tall and lean, wears a metal leg brace. Dresses in either all black dresses and skirts, or jeans boots and flannels, nothing in between. To be honest her general appearance and vibe kind of sprang somewhat from Patti Smith, but not quite so straightforward.

Anything else?: she is the author surrogate. That's right. The author surrogate and the audience surrogate are in love with each other. As they should be.

[russellagraves]

The Southern Swamps

By Russell A. Graves 

I'll admit: Creeping through the Government Ditch of Caddo Lake in the pre-dawn blackness with only the bow lights illuminating the moss-draped cypress trees is an otherworldly experience. The ditch is a straight-as-an-arrow shortcut dredged by the federal government in the 1870s. It was carved through the swamp for steamboat traffic from New Orleans to service, what was then, the second business port in Texas over in the town of Jefferson. Giant, side wheel freighters would bring passengers and goods up the Big Cypress Bayou and, in return, haul out timber and cotton bales to the markets back East. Before the ditch, steamships would have to lumber around a big oxbow in the bayou to reach their destination. The ditch solved all of that. It created a channel by which the ships could cut miles from their journey traveling the Big Cypress.

Over time, bald cypress trees grew along the margin, and 150 years later, they arch over the ditch and create a tree tunnel in which we pass and await the coming sunrise. In a way, this place is spooky. It's no wonder that this legendary swamp is home to legends of bigfoot, ghosts, and other paranormal anomalies. Not far from here in 1869, the steamship Mittie Stephens ran aground after a spark ignited a cargo of hay carried aboard. In all, 61 of her passengers perished in the blaze. And over in Jefferson, bigfoot enthusiasts hold an annual conference and compare notes on their field findings. Caddo Lake wreaks of mystery.

The origins of the lake are somewhat unclear. Undoubtedly, the area's been a bit swampy for the past half-millennia as immense trees dot the area. Dendrologists confirm the age of these giants. With dense, wet, and barely fertile soils, bald cypress can find a niche to grow. Therefore, these flooded lowlands provide the perfect place for them to take root. This area is the largest bald cypress forest in the state and, as some suggest, worldwide. The tree is a bit of an anomaly. It's a deciduous conifer. That means the tree grows needles and cones like common conifers, but unlike trees like spruce or pine, the bald cypress loses its needles each fall. Its propensity to be among the first trees of the season to defoliate gives the tree its "bald" moniker.

From the banks, Caddo Lake doesn't look all that big since there is not a vast, sprawling body of water. Instead it exists as a giant swamp with backwater sloughs that wind in and out of the giant cypress trees that stand draped in Spanish moss. In all, 25,400 acres of big and mysterious swamplands straddle the Texas/Louisiana border. The lake takes its name from the indigenous Caddo Indian tribes who once inhabited the area.

Overall the lake is shallow and is only 20 feet at the deepest. Much of it, though, is shallow enough for trees to crowd the water. There are some areas of significant open water. Still, many of those places have a carpet of lily pads and other aquatic vegetation that stretch for hundreds of yards. In fact, 60% of the lake is covered in aquatic vegetation.

This place is so unique it is recognized as an internationally protected wetland. The lake is also the second-largest natural lake in the south and the largest (and one of the few) natural lakes in Texas.

While theories vary, most scientists think the lake formed gradually over time - probably due to a giant log jam on the Red River known as the Great Raft. Some geologists, however, corroborate the Caddo Indian legend that says the lake was formed by the 1812 New Madrid, Missouri earthquake. It is postulated that when the earthquake occurred, the earth's crust shifting created a basin filled with water from the Red River. In 1913, ecologist Lionel Janes examined cross-sections of cypress and hardwood trees. He estimated that the lake formed between 1770 and 1780.

The lake remained largely undeveloped until the mid-19th century when steamboat traffic picked up in the area and served the various villages on the lake. Bayous were dredged to provide steamer service that brought goods to and from the Red River and, eventually, down to the Port of New Orleans. Since cotton was king in the Old South, cotton trade routes were established through the lake.

While some villages no longer exist, you can take a glimpse back in history by visiting nearby Jefferson, Texas, which offers numerous Civil War-era structures and bayou tours that retrace the old steamboat routes.

Today, big chunks of Caddo Lake are largely conserved through agreements with The Nature Conservancy and the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department. On the Louisiana side, a dam was built in the 1970s to help maintain the wetland's water levels and control flooding in the entire basin.

What's left is natural splendor. Each morning is something to be discovered anew. Location names are as colorful as the rust-red cypress needles within the lake proper. Carter Lake, Whangdoodle Pass, Alligator Bayou, and The Hog Wallow are all specific place names within the lake and is its own scene. Each moss-draped tree is a different character within the broader day-in-day-out natural drama that's unfolded for centuries. It's a boon for outdoor photographers.

Each day we'd venture out on a pontoon boat to explore the nuances of the swamps. Blue herons and white egrets hide amongst the cypress knees and sit motionless while they wait for an unsuspecting fish to swim past. The scenes are a mixture of big sky sunrises and careful studies of individual tree limbs. Therefore, an entire photographic lens repertoire is in order. It's an unconventional landscape shoot, but Caddo Lake challenges the traditional notions of what a landscape shoot looks like: grand mountains shot with a wide angle lens, foreground objects, edge control, etc. In the southern swamps, the rules of traditional landscape photography fly out the door. Intentional camera movement, multiple exposures, and long lens landscapes are all in order. 

The southern swamps is also a place where you learn about rural Texas culture. We even visited one of the oldest country stores in Texas. The Jonesville store is a vestige of what tiny town mercantile used to be and is full of photographic surprises. Down the road, we eat a couple of meals at Bear Creek Smokehouse. Barbecue is an iconic Texas food and this place epitomizes the low and slow method of pit cooking brisket and sausage. 

Each photographer's soul (and belly and memory card) is satiated by the trip's end. Adorned by unconventional beauty, the swamps and the people who call it home have a way of creeping into your own subconscious. Long after we're gone, these swamps will abide - ready to beckon a new batch of intrepid explorers.

[zodiacwooo]

Atol's lore

cw // cult, death also, it takes place in Missouri because yes >:3 (I actually like Missouri and don't see it much in media so-)

In the ghost town of Ink, Missouri hidden between the rolling hills and shadows lives a hidden cult called The Whispering Drift and a young boy named Atol Crowe. His upbringing was filled with weird rituals, fear, and control. The cult believed that long hair ward away misfortune and curses and if they were to cut it they'd bring downfall on themselves and their family so Atol was forced to keep his hair long and let it cascade down his back no matter how much he hated it and couldn't take care of it properly. The cult also believed in odd dietary rules such as eating mostly meat or else the Gods would be displeased and they'd be punished but they also believed that if you weren't to keep a certain weight that'd also displease the Gods, people had to stay thin or else they'd be punished. Atol struggled dearly with his weight, often being underweight and sick. He was tired, lonely, and angry but he couldn't do anything about it. He didn't believe a word the leader said yet he had to listen or else he risked being harmed. One day around his 10th birthday patches of milky white started littering his originally brown skin, vitiligo was showing up on him and it made his life worse because now he was being judged for a simple condition that he had no control over. he did nothing wrong yet he was viewed as different, a curse. The cult thought it was a sign that he was a curse and started to avoid him except for two kids, Aither and Ciel, who were also fed up with the whole being in a cult thing. Ciel was annoying but nice while Aither was a little goofball. They often shared ideas of escaping and finding a way out of this horrible life they were living. Atol's want to escape was stronger than the others and he was determined that one day he would be free. Yet he still felt utterly alone, the isolation he felt was suffocating, and even with the two friends that he kept close, he just couldn't shake the feeling. One night during a sermon, the Church lit ablaze and Amado was left inside amidst the chaos of the crackling fire and terrified screams. No one realized until it was too late though and the Church caved in. Amado was gone. After the fire died down everyone started pointing fingers at Atol; blaming him for the fire and branding him as a harbinger of death and doom, that he somehow conjured the fire that took the Church and his brother Atol's father, blinded by anger and hatred for his son, took Atol's life. he grabbed him by the hair and aimed a gun at the teen's neck. Atol braced himself, inhaling what would be his final breath as a loud bang and deafening silence fell over them like a blanket. The cult believed the only way for someone to be transported into the afterlife was being burned but Atol didn't get that, he was deemed unworthy due to being 'cursed' so instead the river became his final resting place, the cold water taking his body. The stars had a different plan for the young boy though; Nostre, the original God was saddened by his end and decided that he should be the Zodiac Gemini along with Amado; Atol became the God of Death and Amado the God of Life.

Atol wanted revenge though and so he got it; he descended down to Earth and wiped out every member of the cult except for Ciel and Aither, the only two he saw as worthy of life. This however angered Nostre so they took away his ability to kill so now he can only take souls.

[aestheticvoyage2024]

Day 209b: Saturday July 27, 2024 - "The Backroads of Oklahoma"

Crossed the Red River by morning, and into Oklahoma, following the map to a red dirt road where I refreshed and reset for a good day of travel east and north across new track in Oklahoma - the crossroads of America - the gate between East and West and North and South. Left a trail through towns like Eldorado, Lawton, and Chickasha before stopping off in Oklahoma City. While walking the grounds of the memorial, I searched for the best BBQ in Oklahoma (accidentally, leaving off the City) and the search led me east to Wellston for some burnt ends from the Butcher's and collected up some apple bie baked beans for my mom's souvenir for Oklahoma. The road certainly provided today. By far the best part of my day and the best meal I'd have on the road home.

The roads home today started to show signs of life - trees, cornfields, barns and puffy clouds. Lots of little towns and places I had already plucked on the map.

I continued -North to Stillwater, and east towards Tulsa, where I filled my gas tank at the Costco there, and imagined my grandparents, on their way to Arizona, or maybe on their way back home to Gratiot County stopping near here and doing the same. Roadtrippers in my DNA - an itinerant spirit; I reflected on that, as I listened to the new Zach Bryan album for the 8th time, driving through his home hometown, Oologah.

Continued through Nowata, and Vinitia on Route 66 on into the great state of Misery (I mean Missouri). Highway 60 led east into Springfield where I ran for Mayor in Marty's, delivering some ace level karaoke with my childhood penpal, Jess, in the crowd - a fun night in the great American Bar Scene, with nothing but a few O'Douls; I was really excited for myself that I could do that - 209 days sober. It was a good break before the night drive - putting in that work to be setup for tomorrow. Finished the long day of driving by taking new track east to Cabool where I turned north to Rolla, and then to a parking spot in Jefferson City. Two lane roads the whole way.

Song: Zach Bryan - Oklahoma Smokeshow

If I'm lucky enough I'll see fogs lift with suns as we roll to play a show In Carolina, Oklahoma, or Chicago I'll grow to know the road to home in places far away Wrinkled, bald, and beat to shit, to never waste a day Enough people will hate me that I know I did it right But to never meet a human being that I say that I don't like Let me learn the hard way and cut it close sometimes That youths the attic chest where every lesson lies I'll have some kids and teach them that we are all the same Sufferin', smilin', silhouettes of every passin' day The love I have will always be something my friends yearn My memories were never cheap and never easy earned I hope to choke on jack and coke in a bar during a northern winter On a night the band was tight and right as rooftop lights flicker If I'm lucky enough, I'll understand losing someone close I'll clench my teeth on New Year's Eve and try to talk to ghosts I'll stumble through a market on a Sunday day in June Smell the salt and asphalt on a Sunday afternoon I reckon I'd be lucky if I made it half as far To only die on hills that are closest to my heart If I'm lucky enough, notebooks will be strewn across my room Or play catch on green grass with spring time flower bloom If I'm lucky enough, I'll tell the truth every chance I get 'Cause smiles faked to appease another is worth ten regrets If I'm lucky enough, I will get through hard things And they will make me gentle to the ways of the world If I'm lucky enough, I'll have the courage to leave and go Wherever my beatin' heart tells me to go If I'm lucky enough, I'll get high and invite a guitarist over And he'll play sweet notes until a New York City's rooftop sunrises I'll meet some kids in school that still know how to play instruments If I'm lucky enough, I'll make it exactly to where I'm taking this breath now Lay my head upon the Earth and laugh at passing clouds

~Zach Bryan

[ozma914]

A Hot Time In Every Town Tonight

 I realized while going through old blogs that I write about winter way more often than summer. Like most humor writers, my work is usually about stuff I'd be complaining about anyway, so there you go. But after our two hour air conditioner home maintenance job last week I wanted to complain about summer a bit, so I dredged up this 2016 blog I wrote after helping my in-laws move in southeast Missouri ... in July.

They had to get moved faster than planned, after a car crashed into their old home. For one thing, the bedroom was now the width of a bathtub. It had huge holes in the former walls ... and Missouri mosquitos can punch through walls without help. And finally, the electricity had to be cut off to the home. See above about southeast Missouri—in July.

Here's the difference between that area and where I live, in northeast Indiana. Hoosier weather gets just as hot and humid ... from time to time. It seems like our heat waves last forever, but in reality they rarely go more than a few days. (This week excepted.) In Missouri the humidity pops up to 114% in May, and the temperature doesn't drop below 90 until October. Yes, the humidity's actually more than 100%. It’s a head-scratcher, or maybe that’s the mosquitos.

Flowers still came out in the morning, but in the afternoon they burst into flames.

Their winters are wonderful. I mean, compared to Indiana. So that led to a few bumps in moving, such as my difficulty seeing because my glasses melted. Going into that trailer was like sticking your head into the stove to see how the all-day Thanksgiving turkey is doing. Leaving the trailer was like going into the kitchen where the turkey's been cooking all day. It was so hot they had to open the fire hydrants to let steam out. It was so hot even the politicians stopped talking. It was so hot we had to put the beverage coolers into cooler coolers. It was hot, I tell ya'.

Reel-mounted fire extinguishers were mounted by each mailbox, in case the postal delivery arrived in flames. None of this bothered the mosquitos. The first day we soaked ourselves in bug spray, which also cooled us down until later, when it started boiling off our skin. But I was wearing jeans at first, and when I got the bright idea to try shorts an hour later, I forgot to reapply. By the end of the day my legs looked like an overhead photo of a heavily shelled World War I battleground. I couldn't get more bites touring a doughnut factory.

In the end it was worth it. The in-laws had a nice little place, we visited with some friends, and after regaining consciousness we even got to do some traveling. There's something to be said for helping people out. If I could, I'd go back down there and embrace the whole community with a great big, loving cloud of DDT. It would still be hot, though.

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Remember to check your back seat for kids, pets, and ghosts.

[whitepolaris]

Picher, Oklahoma: Poison City

The West is littered with ghost towns. Formerly bustling communities went belly-up when the local industry, usually mining or drilling, dried up, leaving no money and no reason for anyone to stay. In Oklahoma, places like Ingalls, Boggy Depot, and Provine, among dozens of others, offer little more than a few scattered buildings, perhaps a cemetery, and a handful of fading memories.

A tour these old communities can be an exciting and enjoyable adventure into urban exploration. It's an entirely different experience, however, to see a ghost town in the making. Picher (pronounced "pisher"), tucked away in the northeastern corner of the state, is a community in the spasmodic throes of death, just a few rattled breaths from the end. A town that just a few decades ago buzzed with the activity of twenty thousand Oklahomans now houses just a few hundred. Its main street is lined with vacant businesses, and the outer walls of unoccupied buildings display notices marking them as "condemned."

A pass through its tranquil streets reveals the reason why. Picher is a town literally poisoned by its own success. What might appear at first to be gravelly hills are actually massive piles of contaminated chat, the polluted remains from years of lead and zinc mining. The tainted mounds, some measuring as much as a hundred feet high, fill nearly every available space between homes and businesses.

And where there aren't piles, there are sinkholes. The abandoned tunnels that crisscross just feet beneath Picher's sod are collapsing, opening up cavities large enough to ingest entire houses. In 1967, a single collapse swallowed nine homes in a single gulp. A hundred more, according to a study performed in 2006, are in eminent danger of the same fate. Residents report a daily rumbling beneath the earth. Cave-ins have become such a hazard that the highway into town has been closed to heavy trucks and the city park has been fenced off lest the ground consume Picher's few remaining children.

Lead-contaminated dust blows through town, breathed in by the residents who have yet to move away. Nearby Tar Creek runs orange with acidic water seeping from the mines. The ponds that dot the landscape glimmer with a strange, blue-green hue. Before anyone knew better, the enormous chat piles were used for sledding, biking, and picnicking. In the 1990s, a frightening study revealed elevated levels of lead in the blood of Picher's schoolchildren. It's been called "one of the worst environmental nightmares in the country."

The mines closed in the 1970, and soon thereafter Picher and about forty surrounding acres were recognized by the U.S. government as a toxic hazard. The area, cleanup of which has proceeded at the pace of nauseated snail, remains one of the oldest and largest Superfund sites in the nation. Recent property buyouts, however, have helped in moving many of the remaining residents out of harm's way.

As if to drive another nail into Picher's coffin, a devastating tornado tore through the town on May 10, 2008. There were six confirmed deaths and at least 150 injured. Twenty blocks of the town suffered extensive damage with houses and businesses destroyed or flattened. The twister continued eastward, passing just north of Quapaw and Peoria before crossing Interstate 44 into Missouri. This was the deadliest tornado in Oklahoma since the South Oklahoma City tornado of May 3, 1999, which killed thirty-six. The federal government determined that there would be no aid given to rebuild homes, but the buyouts would continue as previously scheduled and people would be assisted in relocation.

When Picher held a parade in the spring of 2008 in honor of the town's nineteenth birthday, only about eight hundred people were left. Save for a few predictable holdouts who refuse to leave their homes on account of a little "harmless" tangerine-colored drinking water, that number is destined to reach zero before long.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Behind the Mask (reupload)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NBrZxai by Atiredraido Dean Winchester knows first that the world is dark and filled with sadness- his face prosthesis a constant reminder, but it never prepared him for the horror the Addison Apartments brought. Can Dean uncover the mysteries and secrets of this town with the help of his friends, or will they be lost to history like hundreds before them? Follow Dean through the years and find out. Words: 36563, Chapters: 9/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005), Sally Face (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Bobby Singer (Supernatural), Amara (Supernatural), Jody Mills, Metatron (Supernatural), Benny Lafitte, God | Chuck Shurley, Akobel (Supernatural), John Winchester, Sean Mills, Jimmy Novak (Supernatural), Azazel (Supernatural), Jo Harvelle, Ben Braeden, Lucifer (Supernatural), Lisa Braeden, Cain (Supernatural), Charlie Bradbury, Gabriel (Supernatural), Missouri Moseley, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Claire Novak, Rowena MacLeod, Kevin Tran (Supernatural), Crowley (Supernatural), Ellen Harvelle Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Benny/Jo Additional Tags: Graphic Description, Cannibalism, Murder, Cult activity, Ghosts, Alternate Universe, Demonic Possession, Hospitals, Parental Death, Child Abuse, Drugs, Animal Death, Body Horror, Child Death, Suicide, Bullying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NBrZxai

[devoutpriest]

langstonmatriarch:

There many who thought the Returned had been a huge, elaborate hoax. Henry had shown her the newspaper articles from papers outside of Arcadia -- a boy waking up in the water in a grassy field ; he having drowned years ago in the river -- her Jacob. The people were naming them all fools, idiots, even some naming them hicks which made Margaret frown far more than the other insults. Well, let them think it all a hoax. It was better that way. Simpler. Though her mind kept wandering to this government facility the majority of the Returned had been taken to, those without families, and what precisely was happening to them. Last time this had happened, it had never drawn the attention of anyone outside the Langstons and their close workers. This time, things had not been so secret and it did not bode well at all. Of course, they had the sci-fi and fantasy fans who kept arriving, who were undeterred by the newspapers, all trying to see, trying to spy some of the Returned as if they were circus freaks. The trouble was that Returned looked as much like any truly living person, and the circus-seekers only walked around aimless and clueless.

And then you had the religious nuts which Pastor Tom had mostly dealt with, those who claimed they were miracles, those who claimed they were the devil’s work. They were all wrong, they were neither miracles nor devils. They were curses. It was a curse caused by the Langstons; Margaret knew it even if no one else did. Of course, this new influx of people were something else, as she sat in the pew, candle lighting the room -- the white wax melting. Monks, apparently, and their arrival had not gone unnoticed by either Arcadians or those visiting. She turned curiously as she heard one speak to her, and her eyes briefly flickered over him, judging him, gauging him. “Hello,” She said simply, and immediately held out her hand for him to shake. She wondered whether it was curiosity that had drawn them all here, or disbelief, or the thought that they were all demons to be wiped from this world. “Margaret Langston.”

Athelstan was slightly taken aback by her sudden introduction so early, a stranger she’d literally just met.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he shakes her outstretched hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms Langston. I am Athelstan, and these are my fellow monks here.” He indicated to them.

And now he paused, once more. COULD IT BE, THAT SHE WAS ONE OF THE RETURNED? According to the news, there seemed to be a lot of them in this town of Arcadia in Missouri, but he did not wish to be rude in outright asking it.

Curiosity was thrumming in his veins though, and he decided to think of a softer, less HARSH way of asking, or simply stating. And respectfully, of course, he could not forget that.

“We have come to hear of the Returned. Truly, it must be a miracle, God giving all these people a second chance ; hearing the calls of the ghosts wandering and breathing life into them.”

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

in which a random psychic psychically gets destiel together (by accident)

Words: 1713 (AO3)

Originally Posted on 2/6/2024

Summary:

Dean Winchester is not in love with anyone.

He doesn't even think of it, not really, so when he has to lie to Castiel, it's easy to say something along those lines. About Dean and Cas being a thing.

And then it isn't a lie anymore.

For Febuwhump 2024 Day 6: "You Lied To Me."

"You lied to me."

Dean sighs from behind the wheel of the Impala, and he can feel the stare from Cas in the passenger seat. He doesn't sound all that angry, he just says it in that flat way of his, an utter lack of tone at all. It took Dean a while at first to figure out that that was just his default way of talking, not an indicator of anger like it is with most people; so, now, it's easier to tell that Cas ain't mad. He's just stating a fact.

"I don't regret it. Probably wouldn't do it again, circumstances and all, but I'm not gonna regret it." Dean says matter-of-factly, gripping the wheel with a little more force than truly necessary. What he said is true, he doesn't regret lying, even though Sam will probably get on his ass if he ever finds out about it. He's not going to be finding out about it if this conversation goes well, and even if it doesn't because Cas isn't a snitch, but it's usually best to acknowledge the internal Sammy before he starts influencing any real decisions.

"... I would just like to know the reasoning behind it. As well as, perhaps, the full truth in addition to what I've figured out myself. To fill in the gaps." Cas, again, doesn't sound mad. Once, he would've preferred if Cas got mad, because even now this weird not-mad Dean-you-did-something-wrong thing can get under his skin if he thinks about it long enough, but they know each other well enough that this reaction is normal. Correction: Dean knows Cas well enough that he doesn't have to remind himself that this is normal.

"Yeah. I probably owe you that one."

-----

It was a weird case.

Technically, all their cases are weird, considering the whole "hunting demons and ghosts and shit" shtick that they've had going their whole lives, but this one was the weird kind of weird. "Somebody in the writers' room of that weird ass universe where his life is a TV show got paid some big bucks for this one" kind of weird. "That writer's room was either a hotbox or held in a bar" kind of weird.

"It felt like 2005 again" kind of weird.

Psychics are rare, always have been, and their numbers are considerably boosted by people that are possessed by something nasty that pretends it's just psychic, or else people like Sammy whose psychic powers turned out to be from an outside source. Psychics- real psychics, regular-ass humans who got lucky enough to get psychic powers as "a blessing from God" or "a product of Heaven's machinations"- as Cas might say, depending on how cynical he feels that day- or "a genetic mutation, probably the same thing that causes cancer, just way more rare" or "whatever Cas says, isn't he the expert on this?"- as Sam might put it, depending on how much of a nerd he feels like being- have a bajillion-to-one chance of occurring, and extremely varied in their powers and their backgrounds. There's no real common factor between psychics, except that they're psychics, but any two could be polar opposites in every other way.

They hadn't met one of those in a long-ass time, and Dean had kind of stopped believing that there were any besides Missouri Mosely still kicking. The failed apocalypse and its stupid-ass domino effect, among many other things, probably went and fucked that up, that or all the psychics were smart enough to tell which way the winds were blowing and went as incognito as possible. Probably some combo of both.

That's why they didn't think it was a psychic until the psycho chick was staring them right in the face.

It was some town in bumfuck nowhere, Tennessee, population six dozen. People had started turning up missing, all of them in long-term relationships, which immediately made them all think that something was going on. The number of disappearances per capita was already alarming, but an easy common thread never meant anything good, because it usually meant they were dealing with something smart enough to pick out its prey instead of going for something convenient. Whatever they were trying to hunt down had a specific motive, which both narrowed the possibilities and made a whole lot of shit more difficult than it needed to be.

-----

"You never told me that the targets were people in relationships." Cas interrupts, and Dean very much doesn't choke on his soda. Nobody can prove otherwise.

"It wasn't important at the time. We already knew what pissed her off and how to do it, so it was easier to do it than to fill you in on everything beforehand. Besides, we didn't know if it would work if you already knew about it." Dean explains, dodging the actual point of the question entirely.

-----

Half the reason it felt like 2005 was because the monster wasn't a monster, but a flesh-and-blood human who just so happened to be psychic- most of the things they hunt down haven't been human in a long time, if they were ever human at all. The other half of the reason was because the human in question had a moral crusade to enforce on everyone else.

They found out later that the girl had just been cheated on by her boyfriend of six years. She hadn't known that she was the reason behind the disappearances, she hadn't known that her hurt and anger flipped out all over the town, so they gave her Missouri's number when it was over- but before that, in order to find her, they needed bait.

People who lied to their partners about big things, keeping secrets, all got disappeared soon after. They couldn't vanish entirely, no human has the mojo to pull that off, and they needed to figure out where they went when they vanished. Cas had had some angel business or something for the first half of the hunt, but he joined up just in time for him and Dean to be the bait.

It had to be big, and Cas couldn't know he was lying- Dean was picked as the "volunteer," obviously, because of the whole "I raised you from perdition" thing he and Cas have had going on since forever, so that would be more likely to count as a relationship- and it couldn't be something that would drive him off entirely.

"I wanna date you."

It was easy to think of, something wild and outlandish and completely untrue.

The rest of the hunt was... awkward. Cas kind of waffled about it, but while he was buffering, the psychic's power took hold and Dean didn't remember much until they were talking to her after.

-----

"For the record- "

"I hadn't thought of it before. You know I don't date all that much, and I don't really..."

"You reciprocate, and you enjoy the relationships itself, but you rarely, if ever, offer."

"Exactly. Notice I didn't say I wanted to fuck you, that one would've been tr- "

"I believe that most humans would not let you finish that sentence. Did you not say that we're not a 'thing,' and you were just pent up?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah, I did." He admits, but doesn't elaborate, not knowing how to put the rest of his thoughts into the right words.

Cas pauses for a moment, before clearing his throat and changing the subject. "I followed the... I suppose you'd probably liken it to a telephone signal, to the source, a young woman who had no idea that she'd been doing anything at all. She wasn't actively telling you to go drive off a cliff, it was more of a curse on the whole town."

"But psychics don't do curses." Dean counters Cas and his choice of words, because curses aren't caused by anything but witches and monsters. Psychics can't do curses, because they all have to put conscious effort into all their powers- it's like if Dean's arm and hand turned the steering wheel correctly while they're completely detached from his body, it's impossible to do because it's not how limbs work. It's hypothetically possible to do psychic bullshit without being aware of it, but that's not a curse, because curses are set once and then they do their bullshit themselves.

Cas doesn't respond, and Dean knows by way of his periphery and maybe some latent psychic bullshit of his own that Cas is making a face at him right now. He knows that Cas means that it was subconscious or whatever, but he likes to be annoying sometimes. Fight him.

"Either way, she's not doing it anymore and the problem is solved, so please explain to me why Sam seems to believe that we're being 'awkward' and need to 'get a room.'"

Dean spots a gas station up ahead, and is silent for a moment or two before he pulls in. He sets up the gas pump and leans against the car, Cas coming out to join him after about a minute. Dean keeps his eyes firmly on the gas pump, because it's easier if he doesn't have to look.

"He's saying that because I thought about it. After. And I decided that I wasn't lying anymore."

Dean lets that hang in the air, and he waits for the inevitable quiet flap of angel wings getting Cas the fuck out of the situation. Sammy's always been about talking about things, the asshole, and he'd never get off of Dean's ass if he didn't say anything now. He's not going to get off of Dean's ass either way, but at least this rejection can put a delay on it for now.

"I... am not familiar with how humans do this 'dating' thing. I'm sure that television isn't the most reliable source, so you'll have to teach me."

Dean whips around to stare at Cas in naked disbelief. Cas is staring back, expressionless, as though he just said something simple or obvious. Maybe it is, to him- maybe this is all trivial bullshit to him, cultural differences or whatever.

"I can do that." Dean says eagerly, almost too eagerly, but Cas smiles a bit at him and he finds he doesn't really give a shit about appearance right now.