#oh! expect for john winchester of course | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyryewhiskey · 3 months ago

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˗ˏˋ prom night ´ˎ˗

from the everything inbetween AU — where john left the boys with bobby back in '95. Another piece in the memory box, when prom night with dean didn't go the way you expected it to. warnings ! hurt/comfort, fluff, teen!dean is a bit of an ass (but it's still charming), pet names, slow dancing, breaking and entering, mentions of john winchester 6k words

The cool evening air spills into your open window, thick with the scent of rain that never quite came, clinging to the pavement like a promise unfulfilled. The sky is a deep indigo, the last remnants of daylight melting into the horizon, casting long, sleepy shadows across the quiet neighborhood. A porch light flickers somewhere down the street, moths dancing in its glow, but your focus is locked on the man standing in the middle of your driveway.

Dean, in all his infuriating, roguish glory, stands with his hands spread wide, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The maroon tie—the one you picked—rests loosely against his chest, the knot slightly undone as if he’d tugged at it in frustration. His suit, sharp and surprisingly well-fitted, should make him look like a gentleman, but the worn leather jacket slung over his shoulders ruins the illusion, branding him as the same reckless, aggravating man you know all too well.

"C’mon, sweetheart, you can’t stay mad at me forever!" His voice carries through the still air, teasing and self-assured, like he already knows he’s going to win this battle. His green eyes, wide and full of that stupid, irresistible charm, catch the glow of the streetlamp, making it impossible to ignore the silent plea behind them.

You lean further out of your second-story window, the wood of the sill cool beneath your fingertips, the glossy paint that matches your dress catches in the moonlight. You shoot him a glare that should burn straight through that smug little grin. “Oh, yeah?” you fire back, voice sharp and unwavering. “Watch me!”

A breeze rolls through, rustling the trees, making the curtains beside you flutter like they, too, are laughing at his audacity. Below, Dean sighs dramatically, rubbing a hand down his face before glancing up at you again, determination flickering in his gaze.

You know he’s not giving up. Not yet. And damn it all, your traitorous heart isn’t sure if it wants him to.

Dean groans from below, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his boots scuffing against the pavement. He tilts his head back, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks, and lets out a slow, measured breath. The soft glow of the streetlamps spills over him, catching in the angles of his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the damn-near irresistible curve of his lips as he tries for that easy charm.

His stupid, beautiful, infuriating face.

"You know I didn’t mean to bail on you, pretty girl," he drawls, voice smooth as honey, coaxing, wheedling. That damn pet name, the one that usually melts you down to nothing, slips from his lips like a lifeline, like he can reel you back in with just those three words.

But not tonight.

You cross your arms tight over your chest, fingers digging into the skin of your arms, trying to hold onto the simmering aggravation that has been coursing through you since 7:00 PM. Since the moment you realized he wasn’t coming.

Since you stood in your dress, heart thudding with anticipation, watching the clock tick past the time he promised he’d be there.

Since you finally accepted, with a lump in your throat, that the best night of teenhood—the night you’d been looking forward to for weeks—was slipping through your fingers.

And now here he is, standing in your driveway under the hush of the evening, looking at you like you’re supposed to just forgive him.

“Oh, don’t start that pretty girl shit with me, Dean!" The words snap like a whip, sharp with the hurt you’ve been swallowing down for hours. "You did bail on me.”

Dean flinches, barely, but you see it. The weight of your words slams into him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He’s felt like shit all night, stomach twisted with guilt, the kind that sits like a stone in his chest. He knows he messed up. He never cared much about disappointing people—he’s had a lifetime of letting folks down, of being told he’s not good enough. But you?

You’re not just anyone else.

You’re his best friend. The only person, besides Sammy, he actually tries to keep happy. And right now, looking up at you, arms crossed, eyes shining with something raw and aching, he knows he let you down in a way he’s drying his damn hardest to fix.

Dean sighs, lashes fluttering as he drags a hand through his hair, the strands already tousled from frustration. The cool night air clings to his skin, his leather jacket shifting with the motion, and for a second, he looks like he’s searching for words that won’t make this worse.

“I didn’t have a choice! Y’know how my Dad is when he’s in town—”

Don’t.

Your stomach twists, and before he can finish, you shake your head sharply. “Don’t feed me another excuse, Dean.” The words come out low, tired. You don’t have the energy for this—don’t have it in you to keep pretending it doesn’t hurt. “You knew how much tonight meant to me.”

Your voice wobbles, and you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to stay steady. You won’t let him see you cry. Not over this. Not over him.

Dean’s face falls, guilt flickering behind his eyes, and the quiet between you stretches long and heavy, thick like the summer air before a storm. The streetlamp hums, casting golden pools onto the pavement, and in the distance, a lone cricket chirps, oblivious to the wreckage unfolding between you.

“I should’ve called,” he tries, voice rough.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, something incredulous clawing up your throat. “You think?”

And for the first time since the impala rolled up your driveway tonight, he doesn’t have a quick remark. No cocky grin, no silver-tongued excuse to charm his way out of trouble. Just the boy you’ve known since freshman year, standing awkwardly on the pavement, looking up at you like he wishes he could turn back time. Like if he could, he’d be on that porch at 7:00 PM, holding out his arm for you with a stupid smirk, telling you how pretty you look before driving you to the best night of your life.

But he wasn’t.

“Lemme make it up to you,” he bargains, voice edged with desperation.

You scoff, stepping back from the window, retreating, needing to get away before this terrible night stretches on any longer. “Too late.”

“C’mon, it’s never too late.”

And damn it all, when you turn back to glare at him, he’s grinning. Like he just thought of the best idea in the world. Like he isn’t the reason your night fell apart.

“Get down here,” he urges, eyes bright with mischief.

You narrow your gaze. “Why?”

Dean spreads his arms, gesturing around dramatically, that same reckless confidence you’ve both hated and loved flickering back to life. “Because, pretty, if I missed prom, then I say we have our own damn prom. Right here. Right now.”

A tired laugh shakes out of you, your hands coming up to rub at your temples, trying to make sense of the absolute insanity of this boy. “You’re insane.”

Dean shrugs, that cocky smirk fueled by the simple fact that you haven’t shut the curtains yet. That you’re still talking to him, still here. And hell, maybe that means he still has a shot.

“Maybe,” he concedes, his shoulders rising in an easy roll, brow quirking like he’s daring you to give in. Then, softer, more honest, more Dean—

“But you look beautiful in that dress, Bug. Don’t let it go to waste because of me.”

And just like that, your heart clenches, the anger still hot in your veins—but wavering, just a little.

“Well?” Dean winks, flashing that damnable, lopsided smirk. “You gonna make me dance alone?”

Before you can roll your eyes, the night is split wide open by the blaring, unmistakable wail of Sweet Child O’ Mine. The opening riff screams from the Impala’s speakers, loud enough to rattle your bedroom window, loud enough to wake the entire damn block.

You nearly jump out of your skin, hands flying to the windowsill. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you mutter, staring down at the absolute spectacle unfolding below.

Dean stands triumphantly in the glow of the streetlamp, looking every bit like a rock god in a leather jacket, his stupid maroon tie now loosened around his collar. He cups a hand around his mouth, voice carrying through the night. “I know you love this song!”

You throw your hands in the air. “It’s midnight, Dean!”

“Then quit stalling and get down here before someone calls the cops!”

And, as if to really sell the moment, he launches into a full-blown air-guitar solo, strumming along like he’s headlining a sold-out stadium. As the first verse kicks in he doesn’t shy away from shouting the words up at you, “She’s got a smile that, it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories!”

He spins once, hair shaking, foot stomping, completely oblivious to Mr. Thompson’s porch light flicking on next door.

His belting continues unceremoniously, “Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky!”

A sharp knock at your door makes you whirl around, heart still racing from the sonic assault.

Your aunt Hadley leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. She cocks an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna let that poor boy embarrass himself all night?”

You huff, turning back to the window, watching as Dean—now fully committed to the bit—climbs onto the Impala’s hood and pounds out a ridiculous drum solo on the roof. The car shakes under his antics, but if there’s one thing you know about Dean Winchester, it’s that he’d sooner let his body break than let Baby take any real damage.

“He deserves to embarrass himself,” you grumble, though even to your own ears, the words sound weaker than before.

Hadley steps inside, tilting her head as she watches you watch him. “You’ve been mad at him all night,” she starts, her voice softer now, knowing. “And now he’s out there making a complete fool of himself for you. Maybe don’t let the poor kid suffer too much longer, huh?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. The frustration, the disappointment—it’s still there, still simmering just under the surface. But watching Dean down there, putting on the most ridiculous, obnoxious show just to make you smile, your resolve starts to crack.

Because it’s him.

Because it’s always him.

And damn it all, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Hadley smirks, stepping aside like she already knows your answer.

With an exasperated sigh, you push away from the window and reach for your shoes. “I hate him,” you mutter under your breath, more for yourself than anyone else.

“Sure you do, sweetheart.”

You step outside, the night air cool against your skin, the silky fabric of your prom dress catching in the faint breeze. Your arms are locked tightly over your chest, gripping onto whatever anger you have left, but the second Dean catches sight of you, that infuriating gummy smile lights up his entire face.

“There’s my girl!” he crows, tossing his arms open like he’s just won a damn Oscar. He leaps down from the Impala’s hood with an easy, practiced grace, his dress shoes hitting the pavement with a solid thunk.

“I am not your girl,” you snap, shooting him a glare as you march down the porch steps. “And turn that down before my neighbors—”

Too late.

The screen door next door slams open, and out hobbles old Mr. Thompson, his robe tied haphazardly around his waist, a permanent scowl etched deep into his wrinkled face. His voice, rough from decades of smoking, cuts through the humid air.

“Winchester!” he barks. “It is a school night!”

Dean, unbothered as always, throws the old man a mock salute. “Technically, sir, Friday is the weekend!”

Mr. Thompson’s glare deepens, and he waves a wobbly finger between the two of you, voice sharp as flint. “Five minutes before I get real angry. You kids take your party elsewhere.”

And just like that, the porch light snaps off with an angry click, leaving you and Dean bathed in the dim glow of the streetlamp once more.

The music still hums from the Impala’s speakers, filling the empty silence as you both slowly turn toward each other, processing the ridiculousness of it all. And then—

The laughter bursts free before you can stop it.

Dean doubles over, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking as his breathless cackles echo through the quiet street. You try—you really do—to stay mad, but it’s impossible when he’s standing there, laughing like that, his whole face alight with unfiltered joy.

Finally, he straightens, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth as he catches his breath. With a playful flourish, he gestures to the empty driveway, green eyes twinkling in the low light.

“So?” He rocks back on his heels. “You heard the man—five minutes. You gonna keep glaring at me, or you gonna let me make this up to you?”

You narrow your eyes, willing yourself to stay firm, but the way he’s looking at you—warm and teasing, hopeful despite the mischief dancing behind his grin—it tugs at something deep inside your chest.

“This does not fix things,” you huff, your voice clipped but losing its edge.

Dean simply holds out a hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation. But you keep to your place, looking between him and his hand. “Maybe not,” he admits, softer this time, his cocky smirk settling into a gentle smile. “But it’s a start, right?”

Dean’s hand lingers in the air, fingers curled just slightly, his usual arrogance tempered by rogue humility and you’re reminded, again, that he’s trying. The streetlamp above flickers, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face, making the green of his eyes seem deeper, warmer. The night hums around you—distant crickets, the low rumble of the Impala’s engine still idling, the fading echoes of Sweet Child O’ Mine from the crackling speakers.

You keep your arms folded, chin tilted stubbornly, but he sees it—the flicker of hesitation, the way your weight shifts ever so slightly toward him. And it’s like a lifeline he can cling to. The next track of the Guns ‘n Roses album rushes through the speakers, You’re Crazy breaking into the quiet of the night.

With a sudden whoop, Dean drops into an absurdly dramatic air guitar solo, fingers flying over invisible strings like he’s headlining a sold-out stadium. His whole body moves with it—knees bending, hips swaying, his head snapping back in an exaggerated display of rock ‘n roll passion. Then, as if the performance wasn’t already over the top, he slides across the pavement on one knee, gravel scraping beneath him, arms outstretched in a final, triumphant chord.

You press your lips together, willing yourself to stay unimpressed. To hold onto the last scraps of irritation still simmering from the night. But then Dean tosses his head back, shaking his hair dramatically like he’s just emerged from an ‘80s music video, and the laugh breaks free before you can stop it.

Because he is absolutely ridiculous, and he’s right. You can’t stay mad at him forever.

Dean freezes mid-rockstar pose, eyes widening in theatrical shock. He clutches his chest as if you’ve just shot him. “Was that a smile?”

You school your face into a glare. “No.”

“It was!” He leaps to his feet, grinning like an idiot as he takes a victory lap around you. “She smiles! She forgives me!”

“I do not—”

“Too late, Bug, no take-backs.” He finally ends his victory lap, chest still huffing from the chaos.

And before you can stop him, he sweeps you up into his arms, warm and solid and smelling like leather and engine grease. Your arms cling to his shoulders as he spins you once—just enough to make your feet leave the ground for half a second—before settling into an easy sway, his hands firm but careful where they rest against your waist.

You sigh, letting your head tip back in exasperation. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

Dean grins down at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. But when his grip tightens just slightly, pulling you that much closer, you don’t pull away.

Dean’s arms settle around your waist, warm and steady, as the music hums through the night air. The Impala’s speakers crackle slightly, but it doesn’t matter—the song is just an echo now, a clashing backdrop to the way he sways you gently from side to side.

The evening chill nips at your exposed skin, but Dean is all warmth. His fingers press lightly into your lower back, guiding you in an easy rhythm, while his other hand finds yours, rough calluses brushing against soft skin. He doesn’t lead with confidence—no practiced footwork, no smooth twirls—just a lazy, slow-rocking sway that feels more like an embrace than a dance.

The streetlamp above casts a golden glow over you both, catching the strands of Dean’s hair as they fall over his forehead. His green eyes are softer now, stripped of the teasing edge from earlier. In it’s place is a look so sincere it makes your heart ache. An apology he doesn’t quite know how to say lurking in the green.

Your head tilts, lips pursing like you’re about to scold him again, but Dean beats you to it. “I really wanted to be with you tonight, y’know,” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper.

You search his face, the familiar freckles, the crease between his brows that deepens when he’s feeling something too heavy for words. “I know,” you admit, your fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of his jacket.

The world shrinks to the space between you, the slow rise and fall of Dean’s chest beneath your palm, the rhythmic sway of your bodies in the cool night air. The scent of worn leather and faded cologne lingers in the space between you, comforting and familiar..

The last notes of the song drift from the Impala’s speakers, crackling into the night, fading into something quieter in the pause between tracks—something unspoken yet understood. Forgiveness settles like the hush before dawn, warm and unhurried.

You sigh, nuzzling your head into his chest, feeling the soft thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. His arms tighten just slightly, his chin coming to rest atop your head, the weight of it grounding. There’s no teasing now, no mischief—just Dean, steady and solid, holding you close in the glow of the streetlamp.

Then, as another song blares its opening notes into the neighborhood— BANG!

The sudden clatter of Mr. Thompson’s screen door exploding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out, eyes going wide as the old man stomps onto his porch, robe flapping around his ankles.

“Winchester!” he bellows, voice scratchy with sleep.

Dean’s grip on you tightens for just a second before he murmurs, low and urgent, “Run.”

You don’t hesitate. You’re at his heels in an instant, dashing toward the Impala as Mr. Thompson’s voice rises behind you in a string of half-mumbled curses.

Dean wrenches open the driver’s side door, and you barely have time to scramble across the seat, over to the passenger side before he’s throwing the car into reverse, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping the back of your seat as he looks over his shoulder.

Tires screech against the pavement as he peels out of the driveway, the Impala’s powerful engine roaring to life, drowning out the old man’s distant shouts.

Laughter bubbles up between you, wild and breathless, filling the space where words aren’t needed. Dean slaps the wheel with a triumphant whoop, his grin wide and reckless in the glow of the dashboard lights.

“Still mad at me?” he shouts over the wind whipping through the open windows.

You shake your head, breathless and giddy, sinking back into your seat as the sleepy neighborhood disappears behind you. “Not tonight, Winchester.”

The Impala hums steadily against the quiet of the night, its deep purr rolling over the empty streets like a heartbeat. Traffic lights cast fleeting glows across the dashboard, green bleeding into shadows as they pass, illuminating the curve of Dean’s knuckles on the steering wheel. His fingers drum absentmindedly against the worn leather, keeping time with the steady pulse of a Zeppelin track humming through the speakers.

His gaze is locked on the road, jaw set, brows pinched just slightly in concentration—like he’s got a destination in mind, like this isn’t just another aimless drive.

You shift in your seat, suspicion curling in your stomach. “D, where are we going?”

At the sound of your voice, that sharp, focused squint softens. He flicks a glance your way, his smile as easy as the wind through the open window. The neon lights from passing gas stations and diners reflect in the green of his eyes as they flicker over you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. Then he shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“You’ll see.”

Before you can press, he reaches for the radio knob and cranks it up, the familiar wail of Zeppelin swelling loud enough to drown out any follow-up questions.

Too casual. Too calculated.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion sharpening. He keeps his focus forward, that smile tugging a little higher, but you see the way his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel—just for a second, just enough to give him away.

You shift in your seat, your eyes flicking between the glowing streetlights that pass overhead and the familiar turns Dean makes with ease, the Impala’s tires humming a steady rhythm on the cracked asphalt. The route feels familiar—each intersection tied to the morning drive to school, the same path he takes every day when you’re both half-asleep with Sam slumped against the backseat.

The Impala’s clock reads 12:25 AM.

Prom ended over an hour ago, and it feels surreal to think of the chaos that’s now in the past—glittering dresses and laughter in the gymnasium. The school, dark and lifeless now, looms ahead, the empty parking lot and the remnants of balloons and streamers left behind.

Dean doesn’t slow down, the car gliding past the front entrance before he takes a sharp turn around the back.

The engine’s hum fades as Dean clicks off the ignition, the sudden silence almost startling. He slides his keys into his jacket pocket, his mischievous grin stretching wider, like he’s just about to pull off something no one else would dare.

“Coach Levy gave me his spare key last week—when he needed me to start practice early,” Dean’s voice is low, his grin teasing. “I never gave ‘em back. To be fair, he never asked.”

You blink, looking between him and the back door of the school. The overhead light above the entrance flickers, casting a faint glow onto the dark pavement. It feels like the place is waiting for you to walk inside, a forgotten corner of your high school life that’s been abandoned for the night.

“You really think no one’s in there? Not even one of the janitors?” You ask, already skeptical as you push open the door.

Dean leans back in his seat, nonchalant, one arm resting on the doorframe, eyes gleaming with that same mischievous smirk. “Oh, a Friday night? No way, dude. I’ve seen those guys up at Rocky’s by this time of night.”

You raise an eyebrow, taken aback. “How the hell are you getting into the bar enough to know that?”

Dean shrugs, that confident grin spreading. “’Member Mandy P.? She graduated like two years ago?”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips as you recall the girl and her ever-present obsession with Dean. “The one who’s been after you since sophomore year?”

Dean's grin grows, clearly proud of the situation. “She bartends there now.”

Before you can fully calculate how many laws that definitely breaks, you flick his ear quickly, laughter bubbling in your chest as you dart out of the car, already moving toward the back door. Dean yelps in protest, but you’re already halfway there, the sound of your laughter mixing with the stillness of the night as you both head toward the school, ready for whatever mischief Dean’s about to drag you into.

The school takes on a much more ominous feel under the cover of night, its familiar walls now stretched with eerie silence. The faint hum of electricity buzzes from the overhead exit signs, casting a sickly green glow at the ends of the corridors. Some of the halls are so dark you can’t see where they lead until you’re already halfway through, swallowed by shadows that seem to stretch unnaturally long in the absence of daylight. The lockers that once held the chaos of the day—students slamming them shut, laughter and rushed footsteps—now stand eerily still, rows of metal doors lining the walls like silent sentinels.

Every creak of the floor beneath your feet feels deafening in the quiet, each step an unwelcome disturbance in the empty school. The classrooms are shrouded in darkness, their doors closed, but you swear you can feel the weight of them as you pass—like the ghosts of the day still linger behind them, whispering forgotten lessons into the void.

Dean, of course, looks completely at ease. He strides ahead with that same lazy confidence, his shoulders loose, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets like he’s been here a hundred times before—like this is just another morning, another walk to class. The unsettling quiet doesn’t seem to faze him at all. If anything, he seems amused by it.

He glances over his shoulder, catching the way you lag just a step behind, your eyes flicking warily to the dark corners of the hallway. A smirk tugs at his lips as he reaches a hand back toward you, fingers curling in a silent invitation.

“C’mon, Bug, don’t look so scared.” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something softer beneath it—something reassuring.

You glare at him, though the unease still prickles at the back of your neck. But after a beat, you sigh and step forward, slipping your fingers into his. His hand is warm, steady, anchoring you against the strange, hollow vastness of the empty school.

Dean gives your hand a light squeeze before pulling you along, his smirk widening. “Atta girl.”

Dean leads you through the darkened halls with ease, dodging past the occasional trophy case and side-stepping a trash can someone left in the middle of the hallway. The closer you get to the gym, the more the air shifts—less eerie, more electric, like the remnants of the night are still clinging to the space beyond the doors.

When Dean pushes them open, the gym reveals itself in all its post-prom glory. The overhead lights are off, but the cheap string lights tangled along the rafters still flicker weakly, casting a dim golden glow across the room. The air is thick with the faint scent of spilt punch and the fading notes of someone’s expensive perfume.

The decorations, once carefully arranged, now hang in disarray. A deflated balloon drifts lazily across the glossy floor as if it’s still dancing to a song long since ended. A silver banner that had once read A Night to Remember is now missing a few letters, dangling crookedly from the bleachers, making it look more like A Nigh t o Re ember. Streamers lay tangled in forgotten heaps, and a few abandoned high heels sit near the edge of the dance floor like their owners had kicked them off in a moment of reckless fun.

Dean lets out a low whistle, stepping further in and surveying the wreckage with amusement. “Damn. Looks like a hurricane tore through here.”

You snort, nudging a tipped-over chair with your foot. “Yeah, it’s called ‘a bunch of sweaty high schoolers on a sugar high.’”

He grins, turning to face you as he walks backward toward the center of the room. “Too bad we missed the chaos.”

You raise a brow. “Yeah? You upset you didn’t get to slow dance with Mandy P.?”

Dean groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” You quip with a small teasing smile, crossing your arms.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head before turning his gaze upward. His expression shifts slightly, something quieter settling in his features. You follow his line of sight to the gym’s ceiling, where a lone disco ball still turns, catching the last of the string light’s glow and casting faint specks of light across the walls and floor. It’s barely moving now, just a slow, lazy spin, but for some reason, it makes your chest feel tight.

Dean turns back to you, hands slipping into his jacket pockets. His voice is softer this time, less teasing. “You still wanna dance?”

Your breath catches slightly. The gym is empty, the music is gone, the night is technically over—but here he is, looking at you like it doesn’t have to be.

You chew your lip, glancing at the mess around you. “Kinda seems like we missed our shot.”

Dean steps closer, that familiar cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Nah.” He lifts his hand again, palm up, just like he did earlier in the night. “We make our own shot.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, his stupidly charming confidence, the way the fading light from the disco ball flickers across his face.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, you place your hand in his.

His grin widens. “There’s my girl.”

And with no music, no audience, and nothing left but the last ghosts of the night, Dean starts to dance with you in the wreckage of prom.

With your head pressed to the warmth of his chest, your mind flutters through thoughts of the night. Of how torn you felt when Dean never showed, how heavy it weighed against your heart all night. But then you remembered what he had said in the driveway, about his dad being in town.

“Is John still here?”

With your head pressed against his chest, you can feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the way his heart picked up at the mention of his dad’s name. It’s steadying now, but that initial reaction said enough. Your fingers trace gentle circles against the nape of his neck, threading into his hair, a silent offering of comfort. He leans into it, like he always does, like he can let himself breathe when you’re this close.

He exhales, the breath warm against the top of your head. “Nah. Just stopped by for a few hours.” His chin tilts, brushing against your hair like he’s trying to anchor himself in the feel of you.

But you hear what he doesn’t say. You feel it in the way his grip tightens at your waist, the way his voice loses its usual easy confidence. John Winchester doesn’t just stop by. He sweeps in like a storm, stirs up debris, and leaves behind whatever wreckage he doesn’t feel like dealing with.

“What’d he want this time?”

Dean hesitates, just for a second. Then, a slow inhale. “He’s hunting a pair of Rugarus. Father and son, too. Said he hasn’t come across one himself before, so he had to get some supplies from Bobby.”

Your stomach twists. That’s it? That’s all he came for? Not to check in, not to see how his sons were doing, not to—God forbid—be a father for once? You pull back just enough to meet Dean’s eyes, and the anger simmering inside you must be written all over your face.

“That’s it?” Your voice is quiet, but sharp. “No ‘Hey, wanted to see my kids, spend some time with ‘em’?”

Dean shakes his head, his expression unreadable, but you see the way his jaw tenses. “You know how my Dad is, Bug.”

You do. That’s the worst part.

Your glare doesn’t waver, though it isn’t for Dean—it’s for the man who has left him with nothing but scraps of affection, who has trained him to expect so little. It’s for the father who only ever seems to show up when he needs something, never just because he wants to.

“Still doesn’t make it fair.” Your voice softens as you tuck his hair back into place, your fingertips ghosting over his temple.

Dean shrugs, a weak attempt at nonchalance, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, I’m not complaining. He grabbed what he needed and left me and Sammy here.” His smile is small, hollow. “You don’t know how scared I get when he comes back. That he’s gonna take us with him again, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

His words are quiet, but they hit like a punch to the gut.

“You could say no.”

Dean’s lips press into a thin line. He doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t brush it off like a joke. He just meets your gaze, steady and unflinching, before speaking again.

“It’s my Dad.”

Three simple words, but the weight behind them is enough to crack something in your chest. Because in Dean’s mind, that’s the end of it. It doesn’t matter what he wants, what he deserves. It doesn’t matter that he’s scared. John Winchester is his father, and that means Dean follows, no questions asked.

You swallow hard, shaking your head as you slide your hands back to cradle his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. His skin is warm beneath your touch, but there’s tension coiled in every inch of him, an exhaustion that runs deeper than the physical.

“Dean,” you whisper, forehead nearly brushing his. “You don’t have to go with him.”

Dean exhales a quiet chuckle, humorless and tired. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t change anything.”

You tilt your head, nose skimming his, refusing to let him retreat into that resigned silence. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

His hands flex against your waist, his grip almost imperceptibly tightening. His breath stirs against your skin as his eyes flicker closed, his body instinctively leaning into you. And for a moment—for just a moment—he lets himself believe it. Lets himself rest in the warmth of you, in the quiet, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, he does have a choice.

The silence of the gym wraps around you both, the dim twinkle lights casting soft shadows over the mess left behind from the dance. Dean’s arms stay locked around you, his grip firm like he’s trying to hold onto something steady—something real. You don’t move either, unwilling to pull away from the rare moment of honesty hanging between you.

His breath is slow and deep now, his forehead still nearly brushing yours. The weight of his father’s presence lingers, even in his absence, but here in this quiet space, you can feel Dean willing it away—if only for now.

The gym doors creak open again, breaking into the silence and rippling goosebumps on your skin.

"Hey! Who’s in there?"

The sharp voice snaps through the stillness, echoing off the high ceilings.

Dean tenses instantly, muscles coiling beneath your touch. You barely have time to process before he’s already moving, his hands dropping from your waist as he grabs your wrist, tugging you toward the back doors.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, eyes darting toward the entrance where a silhouette is shifting beyond the decorated archway.

Heart hammering, you let out a breathless laugh as you stumble after him, the two of you weaving between discarded decorations and forgotten chairs. "Guess the magic’s over, huh?"

Dean flashes you a quick smirk over his shoulder, mischief flickering in his eyes despite the heavy conversation just moments before. "Nah, sweetheart. Magic’s just gotta make a run for it."

The two of you push through the exit just as the voice calls out again, more urgent this time. The night air rushes over you, cool and fresh compared to the stuffy gym, and before you can think twice, Dean’s lacing his fingers with yours, pulling you into the darkness, into the unknown—like he always does.

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @ultravi0lence14 @dulcescorderitas @figthoughts @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @abox-of-rocks @misatxox @angelblqde @marvellouscroissant

#dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester au

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apocalypseornaw · 9 months ago

Text

Close Call

Dean Winchester x Reader

Set in season 1 episode 12 "Faith"

When Dean's gravely injured on a hunt Sam calls you for help. With what seems like a ticking clock Dean makes some confessions but what happens when that clocks slows down?

Fluffy smut

You're not sure what you were expecting when Sam called you. Hell the younger Winchester hadn't exactly been thorough in his explanation, mixed in with the fact that you'd been freshly out of the shower when he called meant you'd barely gotten the bare minimum of it. That alone had been enough to make it feel like your heart would crumble. Dean, hurt, hospital.

"But people survive heart attacks all the time Sam" you were trying to wrap your head around what he was telling you but Dean only having a few weeks, a month at most? That wasn't feasible.

He nodded slowly "it was a massive heart attack. They said there was too much damage" you could see the tears brimming in his eyes and felt your stomach knot. "C'mere" you pulled him down into a hug and he practically buried his face in your neck "I can't lose him and you were the only person I knew who would come to us, who's always answered the phone for us both"

"It's gonna be ok. We'll figure something out. We'll hit the hunters network, make some calls. There's something out there that can help him and we will find it" you didn't know if you were trying to convince Sam or yourself. You stood there for a few seconds simply offering what comfort you could to him.

There were times you forgot you had two years on Sam in age, both of you were lifelong hunters having gotten dragged in at a young age. That's how you knew both boys. Sam was damn near a brother to you and as for Dean, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend.

After a moment Sam pulled back and you could see him take a deep breath and the resolve set in his eyes "I'm gonna head back to the hotel and get started on that list you texted me. Do you mind staying here with him?" He nodded towards the room the two of you were standing outside of. You hadn't went in yet but knew your heart would twist seeing Dean that weak. You nodded "Of course. Call me if you find anything" he kissed your forehead then turned to walk away.

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You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before walking into the room. You could hear the stations flipping on the television before you made it past the curtain, Dean was laying in the bed. Between the grey hospital gown and how pale his skin was he looked closer to a ghoul than the bright eyed, smart mouthed hunter you knew and loved.

He smiled weakly when he spotted you "Finally they got the memo about the fact that I don't wanna die where the nurses aren't even hot" you rolled your eyes at his flirting but sat down on the foot of his bed, resting your hand on the leg closest to you "How the hell do you have a massive heart attack Winchester? If you missed me that bad you could've called. No need for dramatics"

He grinned "Wanted to make sure you dropped everything to come to me sweetheart" you shook your head, trying to hide the worry you knew would be evident on your face. He looked so damn weak, the damage done to him internally showing externally as well.

"Let me guess, John couldn't bother to answer a damn phone for Sam" you couldn't help the bite to your voice. For too long you'd been quiet about the way John treated both his sons but from about the time you turned twenty on at any given opportunity you told him. Dean shrugged "I don't know. I didn't ask him to call dad. I asked him to call you" "oh" your anger at John didn't really dissolve instantly because you knew the reason Dean had you called was because like Sam said himself you always answered.

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

"You need to get some rest" you urged Dean who shrugged "from what they said I'll be getting plenty of rest soon enough" your glare made him grin "I'm sorry sweetheart. I won't joke about it if you come up here and lay down with me. I know you drove all night to be here by now"

Wouldn't be the first time you and Dean had slept in the same area, especially since he started hunting without John. There'd been so many almost between you and him it hurt something deep inside of you to think about it. You loved this man with everything you had and to think about losing him to something as mundane as a heart attack? It didn't seem right.

You shrugged "I don't know Dean. Don't want the nurses to think I'm taking advantage of you in your vulnerable state" he nearly managed his signature smirk at your words before saying "if only I was so lucky then I could die a happy man. Now get your ass up here" he scooted over and patted the bed next to him.

You stood and walked up to the head of the bed, sliding in next to him being careful not to hit any monitor. You knew you were tense because your mind was working overdrive as was your heart but for some reason you thought Dean wouldn't notice, that proved to be wrong because he shifted to pull you further down the bed. "I'm weak,not dead. Not get comfortable and act like you want to be here. You need some rest too"

You knew what he was asking so you turned towards him, tucking your booted feet up onto the bed to lay your head over on his chest. His heartbeat sounded weakly under your ear but it was a familiar comfort. He hooked one arm around you "At least I get to hold you for a little while" you closed your eyes to ensure he wouldn't see any tears in them.

After a minute you'd hoped he'd fallen asleep but he spoke again "Remember that first hunt you ran across me and dad on after Sam left for Stanford?" You nodded "Yeah. I thought that vein on John's neck would burst when I told him it wasn't his fault he didn't know any better and maybe he didn't to read a lore book every now and then"

Dean's laughter shook you slightly "I've always loved that about you. You don't back down from him. You never have" you picked at the hospital gown Dean was wearing before saying "I hate how he treats you and Sam. You're the most important people in my life. I'll fight him tooth and nail"

His fingers found your hair, lightly playing with it "Will you watch out for Sammy? He's gonna need you?" You swallowed hard "I won't need to. Because you're not going anywhere Dean" he kissed the top of your head "Get some sleep sweetheart. I'm gonna try to"

Dean watched you sleep, even as nurses came in to check on him and he sent them out of the room with a glare. They'd told Sam he was dying, a few weeks tops. They could leave him the hell alone to hold his girl. His girl. When the hell had he started categorizing you as his girl?

Was it the fact that you knew the life? That you always backed him and Sam? That you were there when Sam left? You backed down John at every given chance, you always had his back. You were beautiful and sweet and badass. More than one night he'd shared a bed with you just sleeping and it was always the best sleep he'd ever gotten. The hunts you two worked together was a thing of beauty you knew the lore inside and out. If there was ever a chance for him to love someone and it to be a lasting love you were it.

He'd known it long before but laying in a hospital room, being told your time is limited kind of narrows things down for you. He loved you. He was in love with you. How the hell was it fair to tell you that just to leave you?

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Your phone ringing jolted you out of sleep. You could hear a deep voice, Dean? Memories of the last few hours came flooding back and you sat up to see Dean talking on your phone. He held it out to you "It's Sammy" you took it from him and climbed out of the bed, stretching as you did so. "Hey Sam. What's up?"

-----------

Sam sounded excited from the sound of it so you decided to head to the hotel to see what he'd found out. When you told Dean you were leaving for a little while he looked disappointed until you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek "Please behave. I'll be back"

Sam had found a faith healer, from every contact it seemed legit. The problem? Dean would never agree to it? The solution? You would agree to tell Dean it was a specialist and leave it at that.

"So do you drive him in the impala or do I lure him into my car?" You asked Sam with a smirk about the time a knock at the hotel door made both of you turn around. You shared a look before Sam walked over to ease the door open. You started to reach for your gun but stopped when Dean's face came into view.

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

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam asked and he shrugged "I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot" then winked at you. You moved to help Dean into the room when he seemed unsteady on his feet.

The hoodie and jeans was better than the hospital gown but god he was still so pale. He smiled when you shifted one of his arms across your shoulders to support some of his weight "Just had to get close to me again, huh sweetheart?" You shook your head but helped him over to the bed to sit down then looked back at Sam "Why don't you go make sure both the cars are gassed up, grab some food for the road then we'll get going"

Dean looked from you to Sam so you explained "Sam found a specialist. Hopefully it'll be fruitful" he nodded "If you think it's worth trying" "we do" you and Sam answered in unison. Sam cut his eyes at you "I'll be back in about thirty, forty minutes then we can hit the road" you nodded and chucked him your keys "Thanks Sam"

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

After Sam left you stood there for a few minutes before letting out a breath. Dean was watching you carefully before he patted the bed next to him "Sit down sweetheart. You're wearing me out"

You sat down next to him, careful not to move him around too much. He moved back on the bed until his back was against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.

"Do you think this specialist is gonna actually be able to help or are you saying that for Sammy's sake?" You let out a shaking breath "I'm not just saying it for Sam's sake. This specialist has got to help. I can't.. the world can't lose you"

Dean patted the bed next to him "come up here. Might as well get comfortable. We'll be here a little while until Sam gets back" you did as he asked, sitting right next to him on the bed. He lifted one arm and you curled up on his chest so he tucked his arm tightly around you. "Hey, wanna play a game?" You nodded.

"Two truths and a lie" he whispered and you laughed "ok" "I have green eyes, next to Sam you are the most important person in my life and my first solo hunt was at twenty" you felt your face warm "Dean your first solo hunt was at Seventeen" he kissed your forehead "I know"

"Ok, my turn?" You asked and he nodded before shifting to nuzzle into your neck and you had to bite back a groan. You'd always been close to Dean and so many times you two had almost had something happened but what was this? You let out a breath "My car is dark blue, my heart is crumbling in my chest at the thought of losing you and I hate roses"

He whispered against your skin "You love roses" before pressing a feather light kiss to your pulse point. You swallowed hard "Dean" "hmm?" You pushed his chest gently, just enough to put room between the two of you. He looked up at you through those thick eyelashes and your heart flipped "what are you doing?"

He pushed himself up, despite the grimace on his face. For the first time since you showed up you saw his facade slip, tears shining unshed in his eyes "I don't want to die. I don't want to leave Sam. I don't want to leave you. I've known you for years, I've been at your side for years. I've wasted time. I love you Sweetheart. There's never been anyone I feel about like how I feel about you and I know it's selfish of me to say this now but in case this specialist is a bust"

He leaned forward, catching your lips in a gentle kiss that made your heart flip. The two of you had kissed before, teenagers fueled by hormones then hunters fueled by adrenaline after a hunt, nothing had ever gone past a little heavy petting. Something or someone always caused the brakes to get hit but this kiss felt different, like he was trying to say make sure you'd remember him and it broke your heart.

He pushed your shoulders until your back was against the bed and he was on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms. He went from your lips down to your neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh. Every little sound that fell from your lips seemed to spur him on until your senses caught up with you. "Dean...stop" the moment you said it he froze.

You shook your head. A day or two ago you would've given anything to be in this position with Dean but now? You couldn't..."Honey...as much as I want to believe you mean what you told me..as much as I want this...as much as I want you. You're dying, you're afraid. I'm not taking advantage" you swallowed hard before continuing "if this specialist works and we get you to the other side of this tell me how you feel" he pressed his head over on your chest before saying "I've loved you for years"

You ran your hands down his back soothingly, feeling your heart break all over again "Tell me that again when you're not dying" he raised his head to look at you, green eyes holding your gaze "Do you love me?" You blinked back tears "Ask me after we see that specialist. Ask me when you're not dying, please"

He nodded and pressed another quick kiss to your lips before moving back to simply lay next to you "I do love you" he repeated quietly so you nodded, feeling tears sting your eyes. "And I'll give you an answer when you're well"

You and Dean hadn't spoken much when Sam got back except for Dean to tease you by saying "Don't worry sweetheart, Sam's driving so you'll be able to keep up"

From what you could tell he wasn't upset that you hadn't answered his question and you knew better than to think Dean would ever be upset over you turning down any advances. You wanted him, fuck you wanted him but you couldn't have him. Not weak, not scared of dying. You wanted him at full strength with a life ahead of him.

You followed the tail lights of the impala and cranked your music up a little louder. You just needed to get Dean to this healer. It would work...it had to work.

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

You grabbed two hotel rooms in a nearby town because Sam figured it was a much better idea to have you in the car with him and Dean when you arrived to the revival where the healer was working.

You sat in the backseat of the impala as Sam pulled off onto the dirt road that lead to the field where tents were set up all around. "What kind of specialist is this?" Dean asked turning slightly in the seat to look back at you so you shrugged "One that can help you get your answer?"

A look of confusion went across Sam's face "answer to what?" "Never mind that. You two bought me to a faith healer" Dean pushed as the car came to a stop and Sam moved to help him out. Dean pushed away from him but took your hand. "Just give it a try please. For the two of us" you whispered, barely loud enough he could hear you over the crowd.

Dean looked from you to Sam. The woman he loved and his baby brother. He'd do anything for the two of you and if this is what you asked of him, well guess he'd give it a try. "Fine" your smile was reward in itself when you reached for Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze "This is gonna work" you assured the younger man before leading the way into the biggest tent.

Dean was healed, his heart was back in top shape you should be escatic and you were but so much had happened in the last few days with Reverend Roy, his wife Sue Ann practicing ancient blood magic to hold reapers hostage and make it appear as if Roy was working miracles and the guilt Dean was now carrying over Layla the woman you'd all met with the brain tumor you'd been forced to not let be healed well nothing had gone as planned.

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

Sam had asked you to stick around, Dean hadn't said much to you and you were starting to think he regretted his deathbed confession now that it wasn't that. The last case had been a simple haunting. With the three of you it had barely take a day so on a rarity for hunters the boys had taken your suggestion of a clean hotel off route sixty six for a couple days to recoup and rest until another hunt fell in your laps or until John pulled his head out of his ass to call them.

You hadn't been long wished the boys goodnight and headed to your room. No matter where the three of you ended up they always made sure to get you a room next to theirs. You were standing at the dresser next to the door, going through your duffle when you heard a knock at the door. You eyed the gun sitting next to you before Dean's voice drifted through the door "It's me sweetheart"

Here it was. The admission that everything he said was simply words of a dying man. You took a step towards the door and reached to unlock the locks then stepped back to let him walk in.

You barely glanced his way when he crossed the threshold "Hey Dean" your voice was nearly a whisper. He closed the door behind himself and you heard the locks click into place, it was a habit of all of yours at this point. You continued your digging through the duffle bag as a means to keep your hands busy and distract yourself from the oncoming heartbreak as if he hadn't hurt your heart enough over the last couple weeks.

"What are you looking for?" He asked after a moment, humor lightening his voice. You shrugged "something to sleep in. I need to shower so I was planning on a tshirt, panties and sports bra so if there was an emergency the jeans were a slip on and go thing" he hummed a response behind you before you felt him move and his arms slipped around your waist, his hands covering yours to stop the repetitive movements considering you'd picked up and put down the same shirt four times already.

"How about we talk first?" You nodded, pulling your hands away from his. He dropped his arms so you could turn to face him and an almost shy smile played at his lips "There she is" you nodded "Here I am"

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

He reached for your hand, turning so he could sit on the dresser next to your bag. Instead of releasing your hand, he used it to pull you to stand between his legs. You laid one hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you "Y/N. What I did wasn't fair to you"

Your eyes flew to his face "What?" He shrugged "I sprung that on you. You drove all night to get to me and Sam and I spill my guts and put you on the spot for an answer? How big of an asshole do I have to be? We can forget it, if you want"

"And if I want to talk about it?" Your fingers moved to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes closed for a second before he nodded "We'll talk about it" "Do you actually love me?" You asked.

When his eyes opened the intensity in his gaze nearly made your knees go out from under you but luckily he chose that moment to slip both arms around your waist "Yes. I love you. I have for a long time but you don't have to feel like you owe me anything. We can stay friends.." his eyes flicked towards the bed before a smirk snuck onto his face "If you want more I wouldn't dream of telling you no but I'm not holding it against you for not feeling the same way. I've wanted to tell you and just had really shit timing"

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

"So you don't want your answer?" You asked before leaning over and letting your lips find his neck, teasing the spots that had his grip tightening on your hips "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious but I'm not pushing"

You kissed your way across his jaw before claiming his lips, trying to push how you felt for him into the kiss. When the need for air forced the two of you away you felt a small thrill at him chasing your lips for another kiss "Sweetheart, if you're teasing the shit out of me because of that time dad interrupted us when we almost.."

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his before muttering "Still want to punch him for that" you pulled him up off the dresser and he groaned into your mouth. You broke the kiss and smiled up at him "I'm not teasing you for every time we almost had sex getting interrupted, I promised you an answer..." you took a deep breath before continuing "I love you too Dean"

"You don't have to say that to have me Y/N" he whispered, his lips barely a breath away from yours. You smiled softly "I know but Dean think about it. You're my best friend. I can't even pinpoint when I fell in love with you because the transition just happened but it did. I love you"

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His eyes searched your face for a moment and you could feel your heart thudding in your chest before you saw the realization finally strike him that you'd meant it. You loved him, you were in love with him and you wanted him. "C'mere" when his lips found yours again your hands went to his jacket, quickly shoving it off his shoulders as he started walking you backwards towards the bed.

When your the back of your knees hit the bed he followed you down onto it, lips never leaving yours until the need for air pushed you apart. You tugged at his shirt and he got the point, quickly pulling it over his head and tossing it across the room before finding your lips again.

Your hands smoothed up his chest, fingers tracing the familiar scars. Many of which you'd stitched up yourself. He moved from your lips down to your neck, kissing and biting the flesh there. When he hit your pulse point you let out a low moan of his name and he chuckled against your skin "Fuck I love that"

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

When you felt his hands slip under your shirt you lifted your back off the bed enough he could slip it off you without ripping it. Your bra followed quickly, leaving your top half bare to him. He started to lower his mouth to your breasts but you stopped him with a hand on his chest. He looked up at you with a question in his eyes and you smiled teasingly "This is the furthest we've ever gotten. Are you sure we won't get interrupted?"

The look that went through his eyes made your stomach flip before he said "I will shoot any son of a bitch that tries it sweetheart" you laughed and moved your hand to cup his jaw "Fuck i love you Dean" he grinned "I love you"

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

He pressed a kiss to your lips before continuing his path down your neck then making his way to your chest. He ducked his head to roll your nipple between his lips and your back arched off the bed into his chest. He continued to tease the nipple as you felt one of his hands teasing at the waistband of your jeans.

He glanced up at you for permission and you gave a short nod. He broke from your chest with a wet pop "No baby. I need words. I've waited too long" you smiled "Yes Dean" he grinned before helping you to shimmy your jeans off your legs.

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

He tossed them across the room and moved down the bed to position himself between your legs. He started at your left ankle then kissed up, taking special care to leave a few hickies on your inner thighs, just shy of where you desperately needed him before going to the right leg to give it the same treatment.

You were a quivering mess under him and he'd barely touched you yet. "Dean, please" "please what?" He asked with a smirk, rocking back on his heels to look up at you. You tried to glare at him but knew it fell weak. He winked at you before licking a tentative strip across your clit.

When you moaned his name he chuckled "Oh this is gonna be fun" then dove in like a man starved of his favorite meal finally being allowed to feast.

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Your legs were shaking and Dean was working to pull yet another orgasm out of you even though he'd yet to even take his damn jeans off. When he added two fingers to brush across that spot deep inside of you, that warmth burst again and you came with a scream of his name.

You weakly shoved at his head "Please Dean, too much. Please" he left a final kiss against your clit before pulling back to look up at you "Enjoying yourself?" "Get your jeans off and get inside me please" you begged and he grinned broadly "now see? That's using your words sweetheart. That's a good girl"

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He stood off the bed long enough to push his jeans and boxers off. You'd always known Dean was on the bigger side but you'd never known how big.

He was big. You hadn't realized you'd been staring at his cock until he wrapped one hand around the base of it "Like what you see?" You nodded "C'mere"

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

He grinned and crawled up your body, kissing every inch of skin he could reach along the way. When he finally reached your lips he captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. You felt the head of his cock nudging at your opening so you spread your legs a little further, hooking them around his hips. He chuckled lightly "I got you baby" before slowly starting to push into you, a moan leaving you both at the feeling.

Once he was fully inside of you he stilled to give you time to adjust to him, kissing across your neck and chest. Once the pain of him stretching you gave way to pleasure you moved your hips to give him the go ahead. He gave a small roll of his hips and when your response was a gasp of his name that was all the assurance he needed.

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He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you, pulling a moan from you at the feeling. He pulled back to look at your face for a moment "If you don't like anything tell me to stop" you nodded then remembered what he said about wanting words "I will" he smiled softly "Good girl" then caught your lips in a kiss so gentle it made your heart ache. "Gonna take care of you"

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Every damn thrust was pushing you closer to that edge. You'd lost count how many times Dean had made you come. You knew he had to be close. His thrusts started to falter and you knew he was close. You started to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so damn good baby. So damn good" you clenched at his words "Fuck Dean. I need to feel you come. Please baby"

"You first. One more time" he slipped one hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles onto your clit. You felt that warmth rush over your body again and your vision went soft around the edges when you came. You felt his hips falter right before he asked "Can i come in you?" "Please" you moaned and he buried himself inside of you with a final deep thrust and you felt when he came, the feeling pushing another small orgasm out of you.

Dean pulled out of you gently, apologizing when you whimpered. He laid down next to you then pulled you over on his chest "catch your breath then we'll go shower" you raised your head to look at him "Probably gonna need help walking" you'd never seen him look more proud "I can do that" you shook your head then curled up on his chest.

His fingers were working through your hair as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal "So, are we doing this?" He asked and sounded so unsure. You chose not to face him when you asked "Why? Having second thoughts already?" He was quiet for a moment before saying "giving you an out" you pushed yourself up the bed to face him "Damn you Dean Winchester. I love you. There hadn't been an out for me for years. I've been your best friend for a long time before your cock was ever inside me or before you ever knew I loved you. I wasn't walking away before I damn sure am not walking away now"

He grinned slightly "even the possibility of dealing with my dad?" You shrugged "John Winchester doesn't scare me" he pulled you down and caught your lips in a quick kiss before saying "I love you" you smiled "I love you too. Now let's get some sleep because if Sam heard us he's gonna give us hell about it for days"

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction

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studiogrimm810 · 3 months ago

Text

Stoned and Nostalgic

pairings/characters: (best friend/pining) sam x gn!you, dean is barely there

summary: when sam confides in you that he got accepted to stanford, you make him promise to go and never look back, but when you see him years later and back on the road with dean, you demand an explaination as to why he gave that up

warnings: getting high, angst, talk of jess and her death,

word count: 2,301

A/N: this was a request!! tysm for reaching out :):) also, if anyone wants to be tagged in my future works feel free to ask ^.^

———————

The night sky above was clear, shimmering stars from light years away tease your meaningless existence and you rest on the hood of your fathers car. A long drag of a loosely rolled joint fills your lungs with a biting smoke and you exhale, watching as the puff dissolves just above your eyes. A hand slacks into your peripheral and you pass the joint over to Sam.

You had known Sam for years. Ever since your dad and John teamed up on a hunt back in ‘92, it was often you got to share moments like this with the younger Winchester. He also always had the best weed.

Tonight, the dads and Dean were out on a hunt and you didn’t expect to see them for a few more hours. Not that they cared much about your ‘extracurricular activities’. Getting high with Sam was something you often found yourself looking forward to. You never felt safer than when you were with Sam, not just physically but emotionally too.

As summer nears an end, the cool night air rings with cicadas. You looked forward to the autumn months, the changing leaves with a more interesting landscape to get high too observe. Plus, this was the first year you didn’t have to go back to school. You and Sam were graduated adults now but right now, stoned and bodies pressed close, you still felt like dumb teenagers playing hooky.

“I missed you, been too long,” you say, taking back the joint as he passes it to you. Something is different with him though. He’s been quieter, more tense and quite eager to get to smoking.

“Yeah,” he says bluntly with a hint of sadness.

“Maybe with both of us outta school, we’ll get dragged on more hunts,” you pull in a fresh drag. “Wonder why we didn’t get involved with this one.” Sam just hums in response.

Even if his mind is full of thought, the air between you two stays light and dizzy. The joint doing its job.

Sam sits up, resting his forearms on his knees and running a hand down his face.

“I um-,” he clears his throat. You sit up with him and tilt your head, flicking some ash off the tip. “I gotta tell you something,” he looks straight ahead, working his jaw.

“What’s up?” You ask, taking another drag, the smoke dropping a haze over the seriousness of his demeanor. He’s quiet, amping himself up to say what he needs to.

“I got some pretty good news,” he says, but his face isn’t holding the excitement it should.

“Well, spill,” you nudge his shoulder.

“A few months back I applied to some colleges for the hell of it,” he starts, “I got accepted to a few,” the haze starts to thin, “I got a full ride for two. I chose the better of the two- Stanford.”

You’re shocked, the thought of college never even crossed your mind. It was out of the cards for you, not even an option to entertain with an SAT score.

“You’re kidding,” you exhale. Of course if anyone could swing a full ride to a school like that, it would be Sam. “That’s amazing!” You scoff, wrapping your arms around him and holding the joint away so it doesn’t get in the way. “Oh my god, when do you start? What did Dean say?”

Sam chuckles softly, shaking his head, “I haven’t told anyone else yet.” You feel honored. “I have to be there for orientation on Sunday.” Five days from now. Reality hits. Sam is leaving for good.

“Oh!” You try to remain excited for him but you can already feel the ache of his absence. “What are you gonna tell him? Or your dad?”

“I have no fucking clue,” he looks up at the sky, plucking the joint from your fingers. “They are gonna be pissed.” You want to argue that they’ll be ecstatic because who wouldn’t be? But you know John and the kind of father he is.

Silence washes over you two and you let the news settle.

“You’re gonna do great things, Sam,” you finally speak up. “You’re gonna change the world. You’re so damn smart and they’re lucky to have a student like you,” you list off your exact beliefs. “You’re gonna get out,” you breathe out.

Sam looks over to you as you stare above, envy buried under pride for your best friend. A small smile perks your lips and your chest swells with emptying exaultation. You can feel his empathetic eyes bore into your temple. He feels bad, you know he does.

“You deserve this,” you turn to him with glossy eyes. “You just have to promise me one thing.”

His jaw tenses with held back words and he sighs but nods.

“Don’t come back,” you shake your head, ignoring how his expression turns a bit confused and maybe even hurt. But you don’t care if it hurts him now. “You deserve more than this,” you gesture out to the desolate motel parking lot, “you deserve an education, a regular job, a spouse, a good house in a good neighborhood, maybe even a few kids if they're in your cards. You deserve a normal life. You can’t come back to this. Don’t let Dean or John or anybody stop you from doing what is best for you, okay?” Your words are stern and he takes the bite behind them. Your passion for his future fueling his desire to go out to California and never look back.

“I promise.”

———

After working a case in Colorado, you decided to take a few days off and relax at a motel in the beautiful state. You chose a motel within walking distance to a bar and wasted no time trekking up the sidewalk and to the establishment. It was a Thursday night so it wasn’t too busy and you took a stool in the middle of the bar, ordering your preferred drink and some house chips to snack on while you watched the muted talk show on a TV behind the bar.

You had a few drinks, grazed on some appetizers and flirted with the bartender who was looking for a good tip for sure. But you didn’t mind. A few strangers come up to talk to you but you turn them away, committing to yourself for the night.

As the night goes on, the bar gets a bit more crowded and you pay your bill, leaving a generous tip and throwing back the rest of your drink. As you push out of the stool and swing your jacket over your shoulders, your eyes lock with a familiar set and you smile.

Dean Winchester was occupying a high top in the middle of the dining room. His face lights up when he sees you and you make your way over to him.

“Hey!” You greet, and he gets up to meet you for a hug. “What brings you up here?” You ask, pulling away and fixing your jacket.

“Just driving, looking for a case,” Dean shrugs with a kind smile. It had been years since you last saw Dean. You had helped him and John with a nest of vamps back in ‘04.

“It’s so good to see you,” you look over to see an empty chair with a coat slung on the back and a fresh beer in front of the placement. “John in the bathroom?” You ask casually, but Dean’s face grims as he looks down at his glass.

“Actually, um, we’re looking for him,” Dean explains with a heavy inhale, looking up at you.

“We?”

You hear your name and your heart stops as you turn to see a matured and sturdy version of the beanpole you called your best friend all those years ago. A rush of emotions wrack over your body- joy, grief, confusion, anger. What was Sam doing here? It’s the middle of February, shouldn’t he be in school? It should be his senior year.

“Sam?” You ask, astonished to see the man before you. He smiles at you but the lack of your own causes his to melt away in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“What?” He asks, with a small shake of his head as if he didn’t hear you right.

“You should be in California, what- what happened?” You repeat. The promise he made is still fresh in your mind.

“It’s complicated,” he rolls his eyes at the complication and not in annoyance with you.

“No, it’s- Sam,” you scoff lightly. Ready to give him a piece of your mind.

“C’mon, let’s talk outside,” he grabs his coat and gestures for you to follow him. You head towards the door, ignoring Dean's eyes. You push open the door, stepping into the nostalgic night air, looking up at the crystal clear sky with speckled glitter for stars.

“Are you hunting?” You ask, not looking away from the sky.

“Yes,” he admits like an unfaithful spouse. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “It’s-.”

“You promised,” you interrupt, looking over at him with glossy eyes. The image is like déjà vu for him- but this time your eyes are damp with betrayed ache and not hopeful pain.

“Dad went missing and Dean needed help,” Sam reasons.

“Then he should’ve called me,” You combat, you hoped that Dean knew could trust you.

“My girlfriend was killed,” he upped the ante and it shuts you right up. Wiping away your anger like a switch. “The same thing that killed my mom- what my dad has been searching for- it got to her.”

Fuck. You feel awful.

“I couldn’t just ignore that- pretend like it isn’t my fault for thinking I could’ve had a shot at a life with her-,” his voice breaks and he turns away to pace a few feet.

“Sam-.”

“I gave it one hell of a shot though. Even was going for a chance at grad school,” he scoffed at how naïve he was- how stupid to think he could escape. He saw the whole experience as some sort of joke, especially since he only ended up getting the woman he loved killed.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say. He turns to face you, his eyes shedding a few spare tears. You can’t get over how much he’s grown. He somehow got taller and is still more limb than noticeable muscle, but his face has sharpened and his eyes have aged a lifetime.

“I wanted to call you, so damn bad, but I didn’t want to see how disappointed you’d be,” he admits, looking down at the ground.

Damn, that hurts.

“No, I’m so sorry. I’m not disappointed, I just- I wanted so much more for you. I wanted you to be happy,” you explain, taking a few steps closer.

“I was,” his voice breaks as he looks back up at you. You can’t hold yourself back. You reach out to pull him close, rising on your tiptoes to reach him. His arms wrap around your body and he hangs on tight. He holds his sobs back but you can feel his body tremor.

“I missed you like crazy,” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Me too,” his words bite out quickly, he hisses back a sob, his fingers clenched into your coat.

You two stay like that for a while, allowing him time to steel himself before even thinking of pulling away. He’s in so much pain- grieving the life he almost had and the love of it too.

Conveniently, Sam and Dean have picked a room at the same motel as you and when Sam finally pulls away, you offer to call it a night and head back. You tell Dean for him, knowing Sam wouldn’t want his brother seeing him like this, and walk back hand in hand. You and Sam were always close like this, you were even each other's first kisses, so when you two got back to the motel, taking him to the room you previously booked with a single king wasn’t a second thought.

You two got comfortable on the bed and he retrieved a joint from an Altoid tin in his pocket. You listen as he tells you all about his time at Stanford- his major for Law and Criminal Justice, his friends and their lives, parties and particularly annoying professors. Then, when the drug works its haze, he’s able to talk about her.

Jessica Moore, you learn, was a kind, fiery, confident, funny young woman who had her own past that she and Sam bonded over. You rested against the headboard as Sam’s head lay in your lap and he continued to talk about anything and everything Jess. She had a mole between her brows that she was insecure of but Sam found stunning. Her wavy blonde hair would get frizzy in the rain and whenever she got too drunk, he had to talk her out of getting a Papa Smurf tattoo on her thigh.

You can tell just by the way his face ignites that he truly loved her- and still does. You don’t ever think this is the type of love he’ll be able to forget and you don’t blame him.

Hours pass and the high is fading. Sam fell asleep in your lap a little while ago but you continue to play with his shaggy locks, missing the mindless intimacy shared between you two. As much as you wished he would have stayed at Stanford, you know that he would’ve been miserable with guilt. At least on the road, he can do something. He can save other people’s Jess’. He can make a difference even if it isn’t as a lawyer.

He can avenge the death of Jess and Mary and you vowed to help him.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids

#supernatural #sam winchester #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x you #supernatural fandom #supernatural angst #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester oneshot

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clioerato · 2 months ago

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SPN Hogwarts AU [6]

Part [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | ...

MACUSA's official stance is preventing war at all costs. But a shadow faction within the organization has different plans. They believe war is inevitable—and even necessary—to finally establish magical dominance over Muggles. Castiel was sent to Dean with what he believes to be a noble mission: to prevent that war. But in reality, he was placed there by those who seek to start it. A double agent… though he doesn’t know it yet.

Does this mean Mary’s death wasn’t just a tragic accident? In essence, yes. Pull a few strings here, plant a false prophecy there, shift the focus elsewhere—and suddenly, you have a perfectly orchestrated antagonist (John), shaped by forces beyond his control. But John Winchester is not as predictable as MACUSA’s puppet masters had hoped. He moves too quickly, too unexpectedly. The Ministry lost track of him long ago.

They had expected John to take Dean with him, severing the family in two: wizards and Muggles. That’s why Sam was sent to Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny—to isolate him, to weaken the brothers’ bond. But Dean didn’t follow his father into the underground anti-magic movement. He remained an anomaly, a wildcard, a piece on the board that no one knows how to play.

And Sam? Sam was supposed to cut ties with his family altogether (seriously—his mother is dead, his father loathes magic, which is literally Sam’s very nature, and though Dean loves him, he spent most of his life being raised by their father). But Sam defied expectations. He still talks to Dean. He still loves John, despite everything. And he’s still questioning which world he truly belongs to—the magical or the mundane.

Meanwhile, Castiel watches Dean. As his roommate, he keeps close. And of course, he cannot let Dean find out the truth—that Castiel is a wizard. That card must stay hidden. The problem? Castiel is not well-adapted to the Muggle world. You remember how Muggle Studies was taught at Hogwarts? Ilvermorny isn’t much better. Their world is just as closed off, just as insular. So yes, Castiel makes mistakes—awkward, obvious, sometimes even comical mistakes. And sometimes, he has no choice but to cast Obliviate on Dean to cover his tracks.

But then there’s that night.

The night Dean kissed him.

Castiel panicked. Magic flickered—maybe a burst of sparks, maybe a book slipped from his hands and hovered mid-air—before he wiped Dean’s memory clean. The kiss never happened. Not for Dean.

But then… magic intervenes.

Magic in the wizarding world is alive. It flows, responds, binds. And nearly every witch or wizard is born with a soulmark—a gift from magic itself. Yes, I know it’s cliché, but stay with me here. The mark is just a patch of skin, usually insignificant. But when your soulmate touches you, it changes color. It’s a contract, of sorts, between a person and magic itself. If you have a mark, it means you will meet your fated person, guaranteed. (Of course, that doesn’t mean fate is kind—imagine brushing against someone in a crowded subway and realizing that someone in big crowd was your one true soulmate. Yikes.) Some wizards are born without a mark. It doesn’t mean they’ll never love—it just means their path won’t be written by magic. Muggles, on the other hand, never have soulmarks. Magic doesn’t bind them like that. So. Dean kisses Castiel. And Castiel’s soulmark reacts. Which means:

Castiel erased Dean’s memory of the kiss.

Castiel has no idea how to approach Dean now. How does he even begin to explain? "Hey, so… you’re my soulmate, but you’re also a Muggle, and you shouldn’t be my soulmate, because Muggles don’t have soulmarks, and oh, by the way, I’ve been magically gaslighting you this whole time." Yeah. No.

Castiel is still a MACUSA agent. His mission is to use Dean to find John.

Castiel is now facing an impossible choice—Dean or Heaven MACUSA. And the clock is ticking.

If you have any questions about the lore, please ask.

PlotJustPlot

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m4yasnotthatcool · 8 months ago

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one, two, three

part 1. (a/n) imma make this a series just hold on

"one dean grabs the silver knife, two sam shouts for y/n, three y/n torches the sonofabitch"

y/n is 15, sam is 12 and dean is 16 btw (its dean x reader guys, obviously)

they're not together yet, so I used this first chapter teaser thingy to kinda set the relationships the characters have with eachother, the boundaries(or lack there of) they have and stuff

-they're left alone at a motel (dean, y/n and 12 year old sammy) while John and y/ns dad are on a hunt;

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sitting in silence at the table of the shitty motel room was one thing, but having dean winchester sitting at the other end of it was another. he was polishing off a gun, one left by his father in case they needed to protect themselves against any otherworldly creature that might be lurking the night. she tried keeping her attention elsewhere so as to not full on just stare at the boy in front of her, so she settled on mindlessly watching sammy do whatever it was that he was doing.

sam, deans younger brother was sat on one of the beds with his whole body turned towards the tube TV the room provided while eating a bowl of cereal. the heater in the damned place had been wrecked so all 3 of them were wearing whatever clothes they had been able to find around that'd keep them warm.

she was looking at sam trying to roll up the sleeves of his father's jacket as they slightly got in his way, making it difficult to eat, so she got up and silently took each of his hands and rolled up the sleeves in such a way that they would no longer come down.

"thank you" the younger boy said before getting back to his cereal and cartoons.

the girl smiled and nodded before grabbing a book out of one of the duffle bags that contained hers and her fathers clothes and laid out on one of the two beds.

After a while the soft background noise of dean polishing the gun had stopped and a faint sound of wood scratching against wood could be heard. when she looked at him, bringing her attention out of the novel she had been reading a few seconds ago she saw the older boy leaning back into the chair, stretching out his limbs and making the chair lean back along with him, now only being supported on its two back legs.

she couldn't ignore the way his groans echoed through the room or the way his shirt had ridden up slightly though she tried to brush it off. staring at him so profusely, she hadn't realised he started staring at her right back.

"so uhm..." he started. grabbing her attention and making her jump, slightly startled. "what are the sleeping arrangements for tonight? the usual ones or?..."

"oh I'm not sleeping with either of you two tonight." sam chimed in. "y/n kicks in her sleep and big doofus over there snores." he said, accentuating the last part by signalling over to dean.

just as dean was about to snap back at sam, she stopped him by saying something he wasn't expecting "well, I can sleep with you dean." she paused momentarily before adding in a muttered tone "of course, only if that's okay with you too.."

"it's okay!" he said a little too enthusiastically before stopping himself and regaining his composure. "it wouldn't bother me if you're sure that's okay with you too" he stated.

she just smiled before getting up and heading to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes along the way "okay, so it's settled then. I'm gonna go get ready for bed, be right back" she said before leaving the room.

- after getting out of the too-cold shower she wrapped a towel around her frame before putting on a pyjama that consisted of some flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt that she had taken from her dad.

after she got out, sam went in after her at deans request who said it'd be a good thing if the younger winchester went to bed earlier that night seeing as y/n was obviously getting ready to do so.

slipping underneath the covers adoring the twin-size bed she closed her eyes trying to let consciousness slip from her grasp to no avail.

so, instead, she listened to the commotion around. a siren could be heard outside on the street. perhaps someone died. or, could it be related to the job her and the winchesters fathers were working?

the shower stopped, the sound of the water turning off being a distinct one that could only be replicated by another rusted-over shower handle as the person getting ready to get out tried to stop the too-cold liquid from slipping out of the holes in the shitty shower head that seemed to have came out of another time entirely.

a gust of wind must have seeped through the cracks between the windows and the walls of the room as she could feel herself shivering even under the covers.

so she layed there until her eyes threatened to close, but just as they did she felt the bed dip beside her as a bigger, warmer form adjusted it's position next to her.

the light turned off before dean got under the cover, his side against her back in consequence of the small size of the bed.

she must have been shivering seeing as the older boy beside her kept himself up on his elbow as he leaned over her, checking to see if she was properly covered by the duvet. her breath hitched slightly as his hand tucked a part of the blanket around her body, signalling to him that she was indeed still awake.

he leaned back down, his head hitting the pillow with a small thud before she felt herself fall into blissful unconsciousness.

the light that entered the small motel room stirred awake y/ns sleeping form. as she adjusted to her surroundings once again she felt deans soft breathing underneath her. she had her head on his chest as their legs tangled underneath the duvet and his hand rested on her lower back, tracing soft shapes. she could practically see the smug smirk that he would have when she opened her eyes, but she decided to enjoy his warmth a little longer.

once she was semi-satisfied with the amount of time she got to feel the boys calloused hand trace lazy circles on her back, while still pretending to be asleep, she turned around, her back now facing him. what she didn't expect was feeling his arms around her waist just seconds after she turned her back to him.

well, it's not like they had anything planned that day. they were just waiting for their dad's to get back, so she allowed herself some more much-needed sleep.

it had been the sound of the TV that woke her up this time, and she couldn't feel deans warmth beside her anymore.

she rolled over on his side of the bed and looked over at sam who sat at the table her and dean had sat at the night before. he was bickering with the remote of the TV trying to change the channel. he smacked it with his hand a few times and tried changing the program again before sighing in resignation and getting up to press the buttons on the television.

after getting to a channel he was satisfied with, he glanced over at her to see her wide awake, flashing him a wide grin. "good morning sammy"

"hi" he said while sitting back in one of the two chairs. "it's not morning anymore, it's like..." he glanced over at the clock on the wall next to a subjectively ugly painting that had cracks and chips in the thick layers of paint. "11 30 ish.. "

she paused before replying amused "you still don't know how to read the clock?" she said containing a giggle.

"I do know how to read it! it's just that the hands on this one are especially thin, I can't see them properly"

she looked over at the clock herself and saw what he had been talking about: a small-ish clock with a thin black frame that held a white background and two thin clock hands that looked to be a light gray from the way the sun was hitting the glass that was protecting the intricate mechanism.

"fair enough..." she said before getting his attention back at him "wheres your brother?"

"he went to get something to eat. I don't know why though, we have cereal and crackers and some other stuff." he replied while watching the TV with increasing interest.

with that she allowed herself a couple more moments of comfort in the bed before slipping out from under the cover and setting her feet on the cold, ugly carpet that adorned the floor. there was a part of the room in which she presumed they had ran out of the ugly thing so the wooden floors were exposed.

she went over to her duffle bag, looking for some clean clothes but all she had were t-shirts.

"sammy, do you think dean would mind if I took one of his shirts? or a hoodie or something? it's freezing in here and all I have left are short sleeves"

"what?" he said snapping his attention from the screen in front of him "oh, yea, no, he wouldn't mind. and if he says anything you can take one of mine or something, they're about the same size anyway, he's just fatter than me that's all"

the door of the motel room opened with a thud revealing a dishevelled head of dirty blonde hair with dark roots. looking at the way his hair sat you could think he just rolled out of bed, which was probably not far from the truth.

"who's fat?" he said before turning his attention to y/n "good morning sweetheart" he flashed her a smile before getting between sam and the TV, action that erupted a displeased reaction out of the 12 year old.

"hey! I was watching that!"

"oh shut up" dean said dropping two brown grocery bags on the table his brother was sitting at.

"dean, is it okay if I take one of your shirts? I haven't done laundry in a while and I only have short sleeved shirts left."

"yes, sure." he said before lifting his and sams bag onto the bed you gad shared with him the night before. he started looking trough piles of clothes on the left side of the duffle bag, and for a moment she wondered if the boys had a system of keeping their attire separate while still in the same carry on.

her train of tought was quickly interrupted by deans quiet victorious "aha!" before grabbing a shirt and turning around to give it to her.

"here, this should keep you warm."

"thank you" she smiled while grabbing the article of clothing and going to the bathroom to change.

-when they were little they used to share clothes all the time. it was funny, really, none of the clothes had been ever actually anyone's, they were just everyone's. except for one shirt that she had deemed her special going out shirt. it was a simple, short sleeved t-shirt that had once been white but had been put in the wash with something red and had turned a light pink color. the rips and crackles in the printed on hello kitty that had been slightly discolorated because of the amount of times it had been worn and washed. for a moment she wondered what happened to it, one day it was just gone.

she got out of the bathroom wearing a pair of baggy jeans and deans shirt. the sleeves were coming down over her hands and her fingers, reason to why she had to roll them up every once in a while as to not get in her way.

she was met with a pair of forest green eyes watching her carefully as she entered the room and sat down at the table next to a very focused sam. apparently he had begun to research facts about a place he found out about on the news while watching TV that he suspected could be a potential lead for a hunt.

"sam, that's not really our business" she told him as she sat down at the table in front of him.

"but what if it is? we could go check it out.. I mean, we could like ask our dad's if we can go there maybe" he said still concentrated on writing everything he had just heard about the case on the news.

"well dads supposed to call today.. maybe we can ask him about it if he does" said dean while his focus shifted between the two people sitting at the table as he sat on the bed he had shared with y/n the night before.

"uh.. you know what? sure." she said with a now much softer expression.

she could recall always having a more sibling like relationship with sam, but with dean... there was something different, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. (but i bet you'd like to lmao)

he would make her melt with the stupidest shit, like this one for example. the "if he does" he added to the end of his sentence made her weary of the position they all found themselves in, feeling stranded from the fate their guardians might have suffered while out on the job. it seemed as a sort of awakening to her made up reality where her dad had a normal job in an office and she's just waiting for him to get back. no danger. no possibility of death.

the semi sad expression his face held while talking softened her to the point where she was sure her knees would have buckled under her weight if she had been standing up. she knew about how dean tried to protect sam from any and all harm. she knew how he tried to hide any negative thoughts that might come, and he had been successful for the most part. the younger winchester wasn't stupid, quite the opposite actually, and his brother knew that, you knew that, everybody knew that. yet dean tried to seemingly protect this presumed innocence that the kid he had mostly raised by himself was still blessed with. she had listened to dean lie to sam countless times, but never to her. no, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her when he saw the worried expression her face displayed, brows slightly furrowed, trying to read his thoughts as to maybe bring him comfort.

he was still a hard one to crack, she knew that, but the relief that washed over both of them when he let himself cry in her arms was something neither of them could deny. she was always there since they were just kids, always there to patch him up after going on a hunt with his dad, always there to lift his spirits after long nights spent watching the ceiling like it was the most interesting show, focused almost as much as sam when he read his books, if not even more focused.

but right now, that wasn't the case. dean was sitting on the twin sized bed, a grin plastered on his face as he looked at his brother and the girl he sat next to. she couldn't help but smile at his appearance, spiky, messy hair that went in all directions, a wide smile spread across his face and the jeans he had been wearing for the past week still on. as her eyes travelled down his form she noticed the untied laces on his boots, the dired mud on the tips of them very obvious on the black leather. "cute" she thinks before they all hear a phone ring.

dean hurriedly gets his out of the front pocket of his jeans but it isn't the one that's ringing, so he focuses on y/n as she gets her phone out and responds to the call.

"hi dad!" she says, her words having a slight edge to them, waiting to hear if he's okay.

dean and sam hear the person at the other end of the line say something before they see the tension in her demeanour vanish, being replaced by temporary relief.

"yea, we're okay too. hey, could you put Mr winchester on for a second? he was supposed to call dean today and if he's around now it'd be a good time for them to talk."

she listened to her dad say something before she hummed in agreement.

she covered the bottom part of her phone so the microphone wouldn't pick up what she was saying "he's getting your dad right now, you can ask him about the case sam- oh!" she said, uncovering her phone "yes, hi! no, nothing happened. yes... yes, I can put him on right now... mhm..." she held the phone out to dean "take it" is all she said.

he took the phone out of her hands and held it up to his ear "hey dad. yea, were all good. what? ... no, no that's not what... no, we just wanted to ask you about... yes.... no. dad, would you just listen to me for a second?" he said and paused for a second before continuing "okay, thank you. so me and sam wanted to tell you about a lead we found in uh... sam where was that lead again?" "michigan" "michigan. Well i- I don't know all the details, but I can put him on if you want.... yea... " he held the phone away from his face "sammy, he wants to talk to you" he handed the phone over to sam who then started explaining the details of the case he thinks he may have a lead on. an apartment building in which a young girl had disappeared without taking any of her belongings. the neighbours had heard screaming but there were no signs of breaking and entering, so the police had no leads. apparently that's not the first time it had happened, and in the past 10 years 6 girls had gone missing, all around the same age.

the other end of the phone was silent as the youngest winchester explained everything he had gathered from the limited resources he had available at the motel, and after he was done there was a moment on silence in which y/n presumed John was considering if he should pick up the case himself or leave it be.

then he said something that left sam a little taken aback, which obviously sparked both y/ns and deans interest, dean leaning forward with his arms on his knees and hands interlocked in front of him and y/n reaching over the table ever so slightly towards sam.

"he.. he said he'll talk to your dad y/n... but... we can go"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

wooooo cliff hanger

spooky scary indeed

anyway, english is not my first language so if I made any spelling mistakes feel free to point em out

I'm gonna try to put part two up as soon as possible babes

#fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #john winchester #spn #spn fanfic

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angelickks · 24 days ago

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────˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚the max interceptions: how to ruin a girl’s love life in three (overprotective, armed) steps

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): John Winchester. Overprotective family™️. probs one or two sexual innuendos if u squint. light swearing. a dismal love life. canon-typical violence. mentions of alcohol (honestly what’s new?). max dating an archivist. overall shits n giggles once again i had a shitload of fun writing this. don’t mind me pushing out sm content i rlly love max

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Now Max isn’t one to fully doubt her boys, in some moments, yes. But when it really mattered, it was highly unlikely. Now she knew the men in her life were wildly overprotective, albeit armed as well, but she expected the same “I stay out of your sin-filled shenanigans, you stay out of mine.” and god was she proved wrong

supernatural mlist!

MAX'S OFFICIAL UNOFFICIAL 21ST BIRTHDAY

Midnight. Bar outside of Lawrence, Kansas. Some poor bastard who the gull to hit on Max ran out the door, all thanks to the calvary showing up right behind her in the form of three stubborn, foul mouthed Winchester men.

John chuckled gruffly

“One day, kid,” he said, “some poor bastard’s gonna think he can survive you. And when that day comes... I’ll buy him a drink. Just before I give him a fifteen-minute head start.”

Dean snorted.“Better make it ten.”

Sam just shook his head. “That’s generous.”

“Oh you guys got jokes tonight, huh? Ha ha” Max laughed dryly.

Now Max isn’t one to fully doubt her boys, in some moments, yes. But when it really mattered, it was highly unlikely. Now she knew the men in her life were wildly overprotective, albeit armed as well, but she expected the same “I stay out of your sin-filled shenanigans, you stay out of mine.” and god was she proved wrong

If anyone knows anything about Max, is that she hates being wrong…

Here are the rare times she truly was

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THE WALK OF SHAME

4:37 a.m., back hallway of a dingy Kansas motel. Dim lights. Creaky floorboards. The stuff of nightmares—and awkward family encounters.

Max thought she was in the clear.

Boots in one hand, jacket in the other, hair a mess, and her black tank top inside out. She padded barefoot down the hall like a cat burglar who happened to smell like whiskey and sin. The door clicked behind her—the guy was passed out cold. Thank God.

"Smooth," she whispered to herself. She just had to make it ten more feet to her room. Ten. More. Feet.

Then the door at the end of the hall creaked open.

Dean.

Coffee in hand. Shirtless. Disheveled. Confused. Squinting like a dad catching his daughter sneaking back in after curfew.

“...Really?”

Max froze like a raccoon in the trash. “Fuck off. Go back to bed.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the boots in her hand. “You doing a charity shoeless walk or is that just part of your kink now?”

“Oh bite me.”

He just sipped his coffee. “Gotta say, you’re not very stealthy for someone who can’t be sensed by supernatural forces.”

She growled low in her throat, ready to hurl a boot at his face when—

Sam emerged. Fully dressed, hair neat, holding a book.

“Dean, why are you—” He saw Max. Blinked. “...Oh.”

“Oh?” Max echoed, voice cracking with incredulity.

Sam looked like a disappointed professor who just walked in on a bad science experiment.

“Do I even want to know?”

“No,” Max deadpanned. “You want to pretend this didn’t happen and go read about ancient sigils like a good nerd.”

Dean snorted. “She’s got a point.”

Max took one step forward—and a third door opened.

John.

Holding a half-loaded shotgun and a flask. Because of course he was.

“Someone better be dead,” he said groggily, eyes landing on his daughter mid-walk-of-shame. Pause. Narrowed stare.

“…You serious?”

“Oh my God,” Max hissed, looking skyward. “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

John looked her up and down, then past her toward the door she’d come out of. “Was he at least human?”

Max threw up her hands. “I’m not that reckless.”

Sam coughed into his hand. “You once made out with a warlock."

“That was for intel!”

Dean grinned like it was Christmas. “Was it, though?”

John muttered, “Oh jesus fuckin’ christ Max."

Max turned on her heel and stomped to her door, muttering curses under her breath. As she opened it, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t. Say. Anything.”

Dean was already lifting his coffee in salute. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

John added, “Tell lover boy to get out before checkout. Or I’m charging him for breakfast.”

Sam just said, “Want me to ward the hallway? Next time you sneak out you’ll trip an alarm.”

She slammed the door shut so hard the hallway light flickered.

Ten seconds of silence.

Then Dean looked at John. “Think she likes him?”

John shrugged. “He’s still breathing, so… maybe.”

Sam just sighed.

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THE GAS STATION INCIDENT: DEAN EDITION

Dean’s just trying to grab snacks and gas up the Impala when he sees a compact car pull away from behind the next pump. The driver? Some pretty-boy in a Henley.

His eyes narrow.

A familiar denim jacket lies crumpled in the backseat. Max’s.

Dean nearly drops the jerky.

He casually strolls over, pretending to check his tires. Sees the guy fiddling with the aux cord, grinning like he just made out with the devil.

Dean knocks on the window.

“Morning, sunshine. You got something that doesn’t belong to you.”

The guy stammers, “Uh—I think—uh, Max said it was cool—”

Dean just smiles. Real slow.

"Listen. You can hook up with a girl like Max. Or you can live a long, uneventful life. You don't get both, dumbass."

The guy drops the jacket. Speeds off. Leaves his receipt still hanging from the pump.

Dean returns to the car with Max’s jacket, throws it at her.

“Next time, at least make ‘em buy premium.”

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THE COFFEE CUP CLUE (SAM EDITION)

Sam finds it during a food run. Motel trash can. Two cups.

One’s Max’s usual. Black, extra cinnamon.

The other? Hazelnut swirl with almond milk.

Suspicious.

He casually brings it up at breakfast. “So… your coffee tastes changed?”

Max doesn’t look up from her eggs. “Nope.”

“Because unless you suddenly went vegan, you had company.”

Max slowly lifts her mug. “Might’ve been a one-night drifter. With good taste. And a tongue piercing.”

Sam chokes on his toast.

“Jesus, Max—”

“What?” She shrugs. “I’m a grown woman.”

Later, he tells Dean, who nods like a grizzled war vet. “We need to start screening her dates like we do haunted houses. EMF and all.”

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THE LOCKER NOTE (JOHN EDITION)

Max thinks she’s slick.

She tells them she’s off for “library research.”

What she actually means is: steamy rendezvous behind a bar with a mechanic named Eli, who smells like oil and regret.

But she forgets to remove the evidence—his note, stuffed in her gear locker. Scrawled in grease pencil: “You kiss like trouble. Call me.”

John’s the one who finds it while checking ammo.

He reads it twice.

By dinner, he’s leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, saying, “So… this Eli kid. That a new contact for demon lore or just another guy who’s gonna end up hexed because he couldn’t keep it in his pants?”

Max throws a biscuit at his head.

“Is this really necessary?” she mutters.

John just smirks. “Sweetheart, I raised you. I know that ‘gonna ruin someone’s life’ look.”

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THE ONE THAT ALMOST GOT AWAY: A WINCHESTER ROMANCE (SURVIVAL TIME: 3.5 DAYS)

His name is Jonah. He’s an archivist. Like, literally. Wears tweed, glasses, and smells like old books and oak polish. Max meets him while breaking into a restricted collection at the University of Chicago. He's in there cataloging cursed manuscripts. She’s in there stealing one.

They both reach for the same tome: Diabolus Collectanea, 12th-century binding, potential death curse inside.

He freezes. “You’re not faculty.”

She grins. “Nope. I’m much worse.”

Jonah lasts a whole three days before the family catches wind.

Day One: Max doesn’t say anything. She comes back to the motel with a tiny smile and a book she didn’t steal. Sam notices immediately.

Day Two: She hums while cleaning her knives. Dean knows something’s up.

Day Three: John finds a tweed jacket that doesn't belong to either of the boys. Dean almost chokes on his beer.

By the evening, Max slips out for a “walk.” She ends up curled against Jonah under a library skylight, listening to vinyl records on his portable player. He kisses her like he means it.

Max actually thinks about texting the guys to say she’ll be late.

Mistake.

Jonah’s Doom Comes in the Form of a Diner.

She brings him to breakfast, thinking a public space will dull their edge. Mistake #2.

John is already there, sipping coffee like judgment incarnate. Dean is spinning his knife into the table like a loaded threat. Sam is being polite—too polite. Dangerously polite.

Jonah holds his own. Offers to pay. Compliments Max’s hexwork. Knows the difference between a curse and a binding sigil. Even impresses Sam by correctly identifying an ancient Norse glyph.

Then he calls her “Mad Maxie.”

They all freeze.

Max’s smile drops.

Jonah notices a second too late.

“You… call her that often?” Dean asks, slow drawl.

“I—I thought it was cute—she told me—”

Sam covers his face.

Dean leans forward. “Listen, Jon. We let a lot slide. But there are two things we don’t play with: souls and nicknames.”

That night, Max tells Jonah it won’t work.

Not because she doesn’t like him. But because he’s not made for a world where the men in her life come with demon knives, bullet scars, and trauma encoded stares.

He nods, kisses her hand.

“You’re not just mad, Max. You’re myth.”

She almost tells him to run. Instead, she watches him walk away.

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bonus scene!

THE EX-FILES: MAX AND THE CASE OF THE VERY POLITE ARCHIVIST

Bobby’s Salvage Yard. Rain-soaked Texas evening.

Max slams the Impala door harder than necessary. Mud up her boots, duffel hanging low off her shoulder. She walks through the door with a permanent scowl, coffee in hand, and the rage of a woman who just ghosted a guy who owned more scarves than knives. She’s in a hoodie three sizes too big—Jonah’s hoodie. And she knows it.

Too late.

She doesn’t get two feet inside before it starts.

Dean (sprawled across the recliner, munching on jerky): “Oh no. Is that his hoodie?”

Max (dropping her bag without looking at him): “Don’t.”

Sam (barely suppressing a grin): “Wow. Didn’t know Earth-tone Enthusiast left you with a parting gift.”

John (arms crossed, leaning by the door): “Didn’t think you were the ‘date-a-scholar’ type. He knew what end of a shotgun was the barrel, right?”

Max (pulling off the hoodie, instantly regretting everything): “Okay. First of all, he was sweet. And gentle. And he used conditioner.”

John: “You dated a man with a 9-step skincare routine. You’re a hunter, not a house plant.”

Dean (leaning forward, grinning): “You know what this is, right? This is your ‘Sam dated a werewolf’ phase.”

Sam: “Hey!”

Dean: “She dated a gluten-free ghost whisperer. We all make mistakes.”

Max (grabbing a beer, aiming it at Dean’s face): “Shut it, asshat.”

John (raising an eyebrow):

“He wore slippers. To the front porch. In the rain.”

Dean:

“Slippers, Max.”

Max (glaring):

“They were house shoes. And he made me tea. Real tea. With lemon and honey and… kindness.”

All three men simultaneously groan.

John: “Man looked like a sentient co-op.”

Max (collapsing into the couch): “He was just... nice. For once. That’s all.”

Dean (softly, mock-serious): “And that’s why it didn’t work.”

They all sit in silence for a moment.

Then Bobby walks in, holding a dreamcatcher and Jonah’s forgotten satchel.

Bobby: “Someone get rid of this shit before I burn the place down.”

Later that night: They toss Jonah’s hoodie, dream catcher, and satchel in the fire pit. Dean toasts a beer to its slow demise.

Dean: “To Max’s taste in men: may it one day recover.”

Sam: “To Jonah: may he find peace in an artisanal tea shop.”

John (grinning): “To the next poor bastard who tries to date my daughter.”

Max: “You guys suck.”

John: “Buck up, sweetheart”

Post-Credit Scene: They find a box labeled “Jonah’s Favorite Crystals.” Dean salts it. Sam sets it on fire. John shoots it, just in case.

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thelonelyseraph · 26 days ago

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i said i was going to do the thing. so here i am. doing the thing.

("the thing" is me rewatching every single episode of supernatural. and blogging about my experience with them. godspeed to me.)

a bit of a preamble: why am i doing this? because i can because for some reason, supernatural resonated with me on a scale that i wasn't expecting. i'm a supernatural late bloomer, having only watched it for the first time last year. my first attempt to watch it, and i gave up after three episodes. my second attempt to watch it, and i "watched" every single episode in the sense i also slept through a great portion of it because my dog had had major surgery and needed to be cleaned nearly every hour for weeks, and so i watched it extremely sleep-deprived and during naps. i think it deserves a genuine watch-through now because the parts i was at least semi-alive for, i absolutely adored, and i want to better understand why that is. also because supernatural is just a brilliant gateway into practising my writing. i mean, come on. the fanfiction opportunities with this show are endless. endless! for the sake of not misleading anyone though, while i'm not necessarily a shipper yet, i do very much lean towards being destiel friendly. i know that shipping is a pretty astronomical part of this fandom and i will inevitably be pulled in eventually, so i wanted to make it clear from the gecko where i'm at.

without further ado, season 1, episode 1. here we go.

i am immediately struck by how fucking bizarre it is to see jeffrey dean morgan without a leather jacket. mate, where's lucille? john winchester does make reference to sam tossing around a football, but a young dean says sam's not ready for that. i hope john's not considering a future for sam in baseball now. also, i just noticed that john's wearing a shirt that says "JSM" but i think they should have given him a shirt that says "JDM". is it too late for them to redo this scene?

there's a fire and the firefighters arrive and i guess bobby, hen, chimney et al weren't working that day (i've never seen 911 but i hear you, tumblr, i hear you).

cue sam and dean. if i'd watched this show when it first started, i'd have been 10, and sam and dean would have been a lot older than me. but instead i first watched it at 29, and they are a bit younger (and a lot taller) than me. by the time i finish the show again, they'll out-age me again, unless it takes me years to do this rewatch. that's neither here nor there. i never watched it when i was a kid because my sister said it would be too scary, but that's okay because i grew up on doctor who with episodes like the empty child to make up for it.

dean has a chevy impala but i often wonder about how different the dynamic of the show would have been if he drove a mini cooper. it's very strange that they didn't make that artistic decision, but oh well.

sam has to get back "first thing monday" because he has a law school interview. i think he should have pushed to get back sunday evening though so he could have had a healthy meal and a good eight hours of sleep to better prepare. i think if that had happened, he would have become a lawyer and the rest of the show would have been very different. he probably would have ended up as dean's defence barrister.

there's a scene where the impala is driving itself and i've changed my mind. baby shouldn't have been a mini cooper; baby should have been a 1963 volkswagen beetle named herbie. another missed opportunity.

we also learn that dean is a strong swimmer and can apparently swim upstream through a coursing (river?) fully clothed, and i think that's even more supernatural than anything else in this episode. instead of telling his brother how impressive that is, sam tells him he smells like a toilet. to be fair, i struggle with giving (and receiving) compliments too, so i'm not judging. from there i just completely forget to write about anything else because i was genuinely really enjoying the episode, both in terms of character dynamics and atmosphere. i don't think it's scary, and i didn't think it was on my first watch, but embarrassingly the only thing that scares me nowadays is cheap jumpscares à la five nights at freddy's and birds, so there's that. in saying that, my sister was right and i would have been terrified to watch this when i was 10, so thank goodness i didn't grow up with things like blink in its place (i did).

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn rambles

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my-supernatural-rewatch · 6 months ago

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Episode 9: Home

Dean Winchester in the Supernatural episode Home

Oh yay. The episode that began my lifelong hatred of John Winchester.

When Sam has visions of a woman in trouble at the old Winchester house in Lawrence, Kansas, he makes Dean go back home in an attempt to both help the new homeowner and possibly discover what really happened to their mother.

This episode annoys me so much I almost don't even want to write about it...but I will.

So it's been 22 years since the fire and John presumably selling the house. (By the way, where did the money from the sale of the house go because it didn't go to housing or feeding the boys, but I digress.)

It's been sold more than once (if they mention how many times in this episode I missed it) because this new family just moved in and shit is happening that Sam dreams about. Now you're caught up.

We know it's the old Winchester house because the new owner finds a wooden box with stuff in it including what looks like could be a handmade card that says DAD across it (which would have had to be from Dean) and some pictures. Another question, why did John leave this box behind? Especially when it gets established in this episode that Dean has family pics. Why save some and not all, John? Huh?

Sam has a dream something bad is going to happen and demands they go back to Lawrence. As anyone not self-involved would be able to guess, Dean is not so keen on this idea given the last time he was in the house he saw his mother burning.

"I swore to myself that I'd never go back there."

Now I know Dean swore this when he got older but I did get a kick out of the idea of a four-year-old making himself a solemn oath to never go back to that house. Actually,that would be very Dean-like.

In spite of that, Dean knows that they have to go check it out. Dean tries to lie to the new homeowner that they're FBI but Sam interrupts with the truth...kind of. He gives their real names and says they just wanted to see the old house.

This happens a lot in fiction and I have to tell you if strangers came to my house and said "we used to live here can we look around" I'd say 'fuck no" for various reasons, among them, I'd need time to clean the damn house but more pressing would be WHY WOULD I LET STRANGERS IN MY HOUSE?

They find out about the weird stuff happening at the house and when Sam tries to get Dean to open up about how he feels about being home Dean drops a truth bomb Sam didn't expect:

"I'm just freaked out that your weirdo visions have come true."

Thus begins the storyline of psychic Sam and how somehow this freaks Dean the fuck out. I guess because Dean doesn't want to look at Sam like he's a 'monster' but I still always thought they went a little overboard with how much Sam being psychic weirded Dean out.

Also, I'm team Psychic Sam all the way. They should have never taken his powers away from him.

We have another episode where Dean's instincts about what the monster of the week is - is. I get that Sam is out of practice but we end up hearing about what a great hunter Sam is and, really, from the get-go Dean had it all over him.

We do get some good tidbits in this episode about the night of the fire. 22 years later and Sam JUST learns that Dean was the one who got him out of the house that night. How does that not get mentioned in all that time?

Oh here's how: John never told Dean or Sam what he thought killed Mary. So 22 years of running around the country chasing monsters and almost getting killed and John never actually discussed specifics with the boys. Nice. Nice.

After sharing with Sam about getting him out of the house, Dean ducks out under the guise of having to use the bathroom and makes a desperate call to John's cell phone and we learn that Dean has been leaving messages for John ever since they discovered the phone was turned back on...and, of fucking course, John hasn't responded to any of them.

"...I’m with Sam. And we’re in Lawrence. And there’s something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but….(at this point his voice starts to shake and he's trying to keep it all together)…I don’t know what to do. (THEN HE STARTS TO CRY) So, whatever you’re doing, if you could get here. Please. I need your help, Dad."

So of course the next scene is John calling Dean back right?

RIGHT?

Of fucking course not. I hate that (fictional) man so much.

We find out that John was co-owner of a garage until the fire made him nuts. Dean and Sam talk to his former partner who tells them that John "sure loved Mary and doted on those kids." Also, the partner begged John to get help so someone saw John going down a bad path and tried to do something.

This dude gives them a lead: John hood up with a "palm reader in town" and the boys track down Missouri (again, thanks to Dean remembering something John wrote in his journal about Missouri).

A side note about Missouri. I know everyone loves her but she was at the very least counseling John and knew about Dean and Sam and STILL John ended up being John. As a psychic, she could have done more, IMO, to protect those boys.

"I went to Missouri and I learned the truth." Is what John wrote in his journal. So he knew all along and never.told.the.fucking.boys.

You'll note I usually write Dean and Sam. That's because normal people usually say the older sibling's name first. On Supernatural Sam gets first billing, I'm guessing, because Jared got first billing. It's stupid. I always thought it was stupid and I will always hate it.

I only bring it up because when they go see Missouri they don't even have an opportunity to lie about how they are, she clocks them as "Sam and Dean" immediately. She only knew Sam as an infant. It makes so much more sense that she would have said "Dean and Sam" is all I'm saying.

As an aside, in my notes I made a point of writing down that this episode is rife with dramatic close-ups of Dean. This is supposed to be Sam's story, really, but the director reminds us at all times that it's also Dean's.

We get an obligatory dumb thing to happen to move the plot along when the mom in the Winchester house leaves her baby alone in the kitchen after all kinds of sketchy stuff has been going on...only to give us a truly frightening moment when the kid crawls into the open fridge and gets locked in. Christ, that was scarier than most of this show's monsters.

Dean makes it his job to make sure "no one else dies" in the house/ Because it's always on him.

I think this is the first episode where we see hex bags (although they don't call them that). Missouri and Dean are making them and are going to shove them into the walls of the house. Okay, let's go.

I don't know if it was my tv, my eyes, the time of day I watched the episode or the actual episode itself, but man this one seemed to be shot much more darkly than other episodes.

The poltergeist basically kicks Misssouri's and Sam's asses while Dean fends it off...and comes to Sam's rescue...of course.

They trash the house in their efforts to get rid of the poltergeist...and Dean seemingly does just that according to Missouri.

When the owner comes back to the house, Missouri tells her Dean will clean up. She's been giving Dean shit the entire episode with no explanation. It makes no sense. Dean is the one who was old enough that she would have remembered, connected with. Why is she so shitty to him.?

They all leave with literally no proof that they've done anything but destroy the house and the new owner is all "Thanks!"

Just like the film Poltergeist, even though they thought the thing was gone...it wasn't. And Sam senses it so luckily they are right outside the house when Sam's vision starts to come true and they rush in to save the day.

The poltergeist is still in the house...but so is another ghost...Mary Winchester.

And she's a bit of a drama queen...appearing to them in flames. And she only says three things, their names "Dean." "Sam." and then she says "I'm sorry" to Sam. That's it. Then she turns around, yells at the poltergeist and he leaves.

Who knew it was that simple?

We get a shot of Dean holding a picture of him holding Sam and it is just too squee for words.

So according to Missouri, Mary "destroyed herself" when she yelled at the poltergeist so the house is clean of ghosts and hopefully (I guess) that means Mary got destroyed to Heaven.

The last thing Missouri says to them is "Don't you boys be strangers." Dean's response? "We won't."

Twelve years later Dean and Sam see her again.

We get a huge reveal at the end of the episode which isn't that huge a reveal since Jeffrey Dean Morgan's damn name was in the opening credits but when Missouri goes home, guess who's there? Fucking John.

Missouri can't figure out why with his psychic powers Sam couldn't sense John was there. She tells him Mary DID save the boys and she's upset he won't tell them he's there. He tells her he can't until he 'knows the truth.'

Oh shut the fuck up, John. You suck so goddamn hard.

Some notes for posterity:

THERE IS NO MUSIC IN THIS EPISODE. None. WTH?

Dean tries to tell the new homeowner they're FBI but Sam tells the truth. They pose as cops investigating the house fire/John's disappearance when interviewing his ex-business partner.

Movie References: Dean brings up both The Shining and a reference to Poltergeist in this one.

This hunt takes place in Lawrence, Kansas.

Dean wears John’s jacket in this episode but only at the end.

Not including the pilot and John's outgoing voicemail message, this is the first time both John and Mary are in an episode taking place in the current day.

Recognizable Guest Stars: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Samantha Smith, Loretta DeVine

#dean winchester #ramblings of a fan #spn #spn rewatch #supernatural #supernatural rewatch #episode rewatch #spn 1x9 #supernatural 1x9 #Dean Wears John's Jacket #SPN Home #Supernatural Home #Location Kansas #Going Back to Lawrence #Monster Poltergeist #Writer Eric Kripke #Director Ken Girotti #Recognizable Guest Star #Season One

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 2 years ago

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Make a Wish

This fic was inspired by The Time Dean was Sam’s Girlfriend by fleshflutter on LiveJournal

This is it! The thing I've been working on writing all year. It's finally done!

Dean and Jessica share a birthday, so what would happen if they both made birthday wishes at the same time that caused them to swap bodies? The inspiration story was fluffy and silly and adorable, but what if things were more explicit? Like, way more explicit?

This is a gender-bending body swap fic were the characters' sexual partners do not know who is actually inhabiting the body they are having sex with, so it's non-con. It's a bit of a dead dove, so if you don't think you'd be okay with the tags, please don't read. If you do read, I hope you enjoy it!

Relationships: Dean/Sam, Sam/Jessica, Jessica/omc

Warnings: Non-Con resulting from body swap situation and characters not making good choices

Read on AO3

Words: 14,476

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January 24th, 2004

If anyone had ever tried to tell Dean that he would be spending his 25th birthday alone in some dive bar off the highway somewhere between Bumfuck and Podunk, middle America, he would have said that sounded about right. Especially after the last few years. Being alone had become, more and more, par for the course.

His dad, increasingly absent, which was fucking saying something when you considered John Winchester’s stellar trackrecord in that particular department, had been off on a solo hunt for a week now. Before heading out, he’d tasked Dean with a simple salt ‘n’ burn, a milk run that had taken all of a day and a half to complete. So now Dean was expected to just sit here, in this rest stop that was pretending to be a town, and fucking wait.

Dean hated waiting. Waiting gave you too much time to think, even though he had nothing good to think about, and thinking like that got you into trouble.

It was a Saturday night and, other than Dean, there were only four other people in the bar, three other patrons who all looked to be well into their fifties and the bartender, who was a decently handsome guy, probably did well enough with the ladies, but he had a beard and skinny jeans that gave off hipster vibes that made Dean decide right off the bat that he didn’t particularly like the guy.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open with his thumb. The screen lit up, his thumb hovered over the button that would pull up his contacts. Once again, Sam hadn’t bothered to call him on his birthday and the urge to give his brother shit about it was strong.

Eight months.

He flipped the phone shut and sat it on the surface of the bar to the right of his beer, and tapped his ring against it twice, the silver making a satisfying clink against the hard plastic. It’d been eight months since they’d spoken.

Dean had called on Sam’s birthday, no answer, so he’d left a message, “Happy Birthday, Bitch. Call sometime, let me know you’re still alive.”

It’d taken almost another month before he’d worked up the nerve, which was almost entirely worry-fueled anger at that point, to call again. It only rang twice.

“Dean?”

Fear that had been slowly choking him from the inside let go all at once, replaced just as suddenly by irritation. “So you are alive.”

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve been drowning in finals.”

“Yeah right, you know you aced ‘em.” He could hear Sam smile, without him saying anything, and that should have made things better but it really didn’t. But they’d shot the shit for a bit, conversation light and barely surface deep, a shallow script whose only consolation was the reassurance that Sam was okay, better even, he sounded like he was thriving. A weird lump suddenly formed in Dean’s throat. “Hey, I gotta go, but happy belated.”

“Oh? Okay, thanks.”

“Later. Hey? Pick up the damn phone sometime.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

That had been in June. Neither of them had reached out since. He gave the phone a spin on the heavily varnished wood, set it twirling in place like a top before reaching for his beer. One long pull and it was drained.

“‘Nother one?” The bartender asked as Dean sat the empty bottle down.

“You know what? Fuck it, it’s my birthday, let’s step it up to bourbon.”

“Birthday, huh? And you’re lucky enough to be drinking here?” There was a barely restrained chuckle at the end.

“Yep.” Dean said with a little extra pop at the end of the word.

“Damn.” The bartender said as he turned and selected a bottle, grabbed a glass, and was back pouring two fingers of amber liquid with practiced ease. “This one’s on the house, birthday boy.”

Dean’s face lit up in a genuine, if somewhat rueful smile, “Thanks.”

The bartender nodded and busied himself further down the bar.

Dean slowly swirled the glass a few times. “Yeah.” he said, quietly, “Happy birthday.” Looking down at his phone again, he raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. He closed his eyes as the smokey, thick burn chased a wish for something out of reach down his throat.

A wave of vertigo crashed over him, so sudden and hard that he was glad he’d been sitting down. Even though he’d watched him pour the drink, the idea that maybe the bartender had drugged him suddenly seemed like a very real possibility.

Wait, why did he smell candle smoke? Shit, was he having a stroke or something?

He opened his eyes and had to grab onto the edge of the table to steady himself as his legs threatened to give out. Bar and barstool were gone, replaced with a house and a small dining table. The room he was now in was full of people looking at him with bright smiles, who all started clapping and cheering as soon as he opened his eyes. Smoke curled up from a forest of little, thin candles sticking out of a flowery cake on the table right in front of him that had, “Happy Birthday, Jessica!” written on it in fancy, blue, cursive icing.

There was a flurry of movement to his left and a pair of pretty brunettes started cutting into the cake and passing slices around. Everyone was smiling and laughing and acting incredibly… normal, like nothing weird had just happened.

Something moved way too close to Dean’s face and he flinched and tried to swat it away. As he touched it, he froze, eyes fixed on his fingers and the lock of long, wavy, blonde hair that tugged on his scalp as he tried to get it away from him. Long blonde hair that was being held not by his own fingers but by delicate, slender, fingers with nails painted pale pink, all glossy and graceful and… soft.

To say it was disconcerting would have been the understatement of all time. He was looking at a hand that was very obviously not his own, but that moved and felt as if it were. He gave another tug to the lock of hair, harder this time, and although it didn’t exactly hurt, it was definitely attached to his head, not a wig or anything like that. He brushed it back and confirmed he now had a full head of hair that came down way past his shoulders.

Chick hands, chick hair… his eyes went wide and he looked down his chest and stared right into cleavage.

He had tits!?

“Oh fuck.” he said in a chick’s voice.

“Hey?” A warm touch to his upper arm caused Dean to turn and look right into the throat of a massive guy standing behind him. Tilting his head back to look up he was met with bright eyes and a dimpled smile that he knew better than his own reflection.

“Sam?”

“Happy Birthday, Jess.” That smile, still sweet but with a gleam, a glint that Dean hadn’t seen since they were both teenagers. One of Sam’s hands came up, jesus he had big hands, and gently brushed along Dean’s jawline, thumb sweeping his cheek as long fingers slipped into his hair behind his ear. Sam’s gaze held Dean’s focus as he leaned down.

Had Sam gotten even taller?

Everything was moving in slow motion, Dean couldn’t feel his heart beating, wasn’t breathing, but his mind was spinning, scrambling to sort through way too much information, too much change, just too much, way too fast. So perhaps it was understandable that he didn’t react in time to pull back.

Just a fleeting, Oh fuck, before their lips met and Dean’s heart leapt into action like he’d been shocked awake. Sam was warm and familiar, but the way he pressed and pulled at Dean’s bottom lip, just a promising hint of more, made a small noise escape Dean’s throat that didn’t sound at all like disgust, like it should have.

Someone wolf whistled loudly nearby, eliciting another round of clapping and cheers from the crowd and Sam pulled back, twin spots of red blazing on his cheeks. He laughed in a way that Dean hadn’t seen in ages, playful and easy and open, as he glanced around at these people who were obviously his friends. A spark of something anxious twisted up in his chest. Dean blinked a few times, licked his lips, and swallowed, winded like he’d just sprinted up a hill too fast.

“Get it, Winchester!” a guy hooted from somewhere behind Dean.

“That’s real mature, Brady.” Sam said, his hand sliding down Dean’s shoulder and the back of his arm, coming to rest low on his back, fingertips brushing against the strip of bare skin between his top and skirt. The skirt thing was weird… drafty, but the warm press of Sam’s fingers sent little static sparks through him and a blush heated his cheeks, spread down his chest, and he was once again very aware of the fact that he currently had boobs… and a pussy instead of a dick.

This was bad, his mind raced like a cartoon character running in place before his thoughts finally caught traction with the ground and lunged forward. He wasn’t him, wasn’t in his own body. He was somehow in the body of Sam’s girlfriend?

Of all the bodies in all the world, I had to end up in this one?

But Sam hadn’t kissed him, he’d kissed his girlfriend, who’s birthday just happened to be the same as Dean’s? Which was… okay, yeah, that was weird as fuck. But she’d obviously just blown out the candles on her cake, which would have been the same time that he’d had swallowed down his own wishful thoughts.

Shit. He swallowed again. Shit, shit, shit.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.” He said, trying not to show how unsettled he was at sounding like a chick, reminding himself that he looked like a chick, sort of was one right now. He took a breath, and told himself to play it calm and poker face the situation.

“You okay?” Sam asked, his eyes squinting slightly the way they did when he was concerned, or getting suspicious, his thumb rubbing against Dean’s skin, sending those sparks flying all through him again.

Oh, so not good. This is bad.

“Yeah, good, I just need to go to the bathroom.” Dean smiled as he felt for pockets in the clothes he was wearing, but found none. Where would she keep her cellphone? “Did you see where I put my purse?”

“Yeah, it’s right over there.” Sam looked at an end table by the sofa in the adjoining room.

“Thanks!” Dean said as he broke away from Sam and grabbed the purse.

Taking stock of his surroundings, it looked like they were in a two-story house. It was a little worn and run down, but decorated in a way that practically screamed college kids lived here. Probably a rental near campus, it had that vibe. It was also older, which meant that the bathroom was likely upstairs. He unzipped the purse as he went up the stairs, and thanked whatever luck he had that there was a little flip phone tucked inside. He found the bathroom and was punching in his number as he closed the door.

~~~

“Happy Birthday, tooooooo, yooooouuuuuuuuu!!!!”

Jessica thought of a wish and blew out the candles on her cake, then blinked and started coughing at a sudden burning in her throat. She must have inhaled the candle smoke. While her eyes were closed the room gave a lurch and she was suddenly sitting down.

A loud solid thunk made her flinch as she opened her eyes. Dark amber liquid sloshed in a thick bottomed glass that had just dropped onto a heavily varnished wood bartop a few inches below an outstretched man’s hand in front of her. Whiskey and the lingering, stale ashtray smell of old cigarette smoke hit her all at once. Looking quickly to her right, to see who had dropped the glass, she found that the man's arm that was connected to the hand that’d dropped the glass, was attached to her?

“What the…?” The voice that came out was not hers. It wasn’t even close. It was a man’s voice, with a timbre that resonated deep in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand but then immediately jerked her hand away at the feel of a man’s fingers touching her lips and the feel of scratchy stubble against her fingertips. Her mouth tasted like whiskey, that’s what was burning in her throat, like she’d just taken a drink from the glass in front of her.

She looked down at herself and saw a broad, flat chest filling out an oversized leather jacket with a thermal shirt underneath, and long, muscular, denim-clad legs. Her hands were thicker, wider, than they should be, with short-trimmed nails, and a few scrapes and scabbed cuts across the knuckles.

Over the sound of Guns ’n’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle she could hear a couple of voices talking not too far away. She looked around. She was in some ratty, hole-in-the-wall bar that smelled like a lifetime of regret and spilled beer. There were only a few other people. An older couple that looked like they’d probably gotten here on a Harley, were sitting down the bar to her left, they were the ones talking, but they weren’t close enough for Jess to hear what they were saying. And there was a middle-aged guy who looked like he might be a trucker way down off to her right. He was drinking a Budwiser and staring into space, lost in his own thoughts. There was also a bartender busying himself with restocking the bar. He was probably in his mid-20’s, with a neatly trimmed beard, blue plaid flannel shirt that was buttoned up but not tucked into his well-fitting, black jeans that were rolled into wide cuffs above hiking boots. She watched him move some bottles around on the shelf along the wall and realized that there was a mirror there that ran the entire length of the bar.

Slowly standing and looking ahead into the mirror, she watched as a guy stood up and stared back at her. He had short, sandy brown hair, spiked a little in the front, and big light colored eyes. The dim lighting and collection of various neon in the room made it hard to tell if they were blue, gray, or green, but they were wide. He looked like he was also in his 20’s, handsome, really handsome, but no one she’d ever seen before. She raised her hand and watched as the guy in the reflection did too. She touched her face… his face? He mirrored the movement.

“What the hell?” She said, in a voice that seemed to fit the reflection.

“Everything okay, man?”

It took a few seconds to realize that the bartender was looking at her, that he’d been speaking to her.

“Uh?” What in the hell was happening? Was she dreaming? Was this some weird hallucination? A byproduct of having a stroke? Had she somehow fallen and hit her head? “I don’t know…”

The bartender’s brow furrowed. “Something wrong with the drink?”

She looked down at the glass again. Should she say anything? Say something to get some help? What would she say? Her heart was racing. Maybe she should slow down, take a minute before letting the looming panic take over. “No, it’s uh, it’s fine, it’s good. I’m good. Um, how long have I been here?”

“I don’t know, maybe about an hour.” He poured water in a glass and sat it down in front of her, next to the whiskey. “I know the bourbon here isn’t that great,” he shrugged and gestured around as if that explained it, “maybe take it easy?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just had a weird… um sort of deja vu thing for a minute there.”

He nodded at her and moved away down the bar again.

Okay, something is going on, but it’ll be okay, I can figure this out, she thought as she sat back down on the stool. That’s when she noticed the hard press of a wallet in one of her pockets. Pulling it out and flipping it open revealed a driver’s license with her reflection’s photo on it.

“James Page, huh?” She said quietly to herself as she looked through the rest of the wallet. There were a few credit cards, about a hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and a condom… classy. She looked at the ID again, it listed his birthday as 01-24-1979, “What?”

Okay, so today was also his birthday. That felt too coincidental to be a coincidence.

Absently, she took a drink of water. If this was a dream, it was the most mundanely detailed dream she’d ever had, the water tasted like chlorinated tap water. She started to pull one of the credit cards out when a cell phone sitting on the bar in front of her, had that been sitting there this whole time, started to ring with an obnoxious metal guitar riff. She grabbed it up and looked at the caller ID. It was her own cell number!

Quickly answering she said, “Hello?”

“Please tell me your name is Jessica.” a woman’s voice said.

“Um…”

“My name is De… uh… James Page, that’s my phone you’re talking on, please tell me that you’re Jessica Moore?”

It sounded weird when heard from the wrong end of a phone call, but she recognized her own voice speaking back to her.

“Yeah, yes, that’s me… what’s happening?”

The woman on the other end of the phone gave a loud sigh before continuing. “Thank god, it’s just a straight swap. Okay, so, this would normally sound really unbelievable, but you already seem kinda freaked so I’m guessing you’ve noticed that we seem to have switched bodies.”

“But, I mean how is that, how is this even possible?” Her heart was pounding in her ears. This is crazy, it’s crazy…

“Did you make a wish when you blew out your birthday candles, Jessica?”

“What? Why is that important?”

“Well, you see, today is my birthday too. Happy Birthday by the way. And I uh, I made a wish right before I opened my eyes in your body. So I’m wondering, since I know you’d just blown out the candles on your cake, did you make a wish too?”

“I… I did, yeah.”

“Okay, good. What did you wish for, exactly?”

She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her conversation before replying. “I wished I knew more about my boyfriend’s family.”

“Huh. Okay. Who’s, uh, who’s your boyfriend? What’s his name?”

“Sam… Winchester. Do you know him?”

There was a slight pause. “No. But I’m guessing he’s the really tall guy, soulful eyes, needs a haircut?”

“He doesn’t… I like his hair, but, yeah I guess that sounds like him.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?”

There was a longer pause before James continued, “To find someone I haven’t seen in a while. I dunno maybe they’re around here somewhere? Where am I?”

“Palo Alto. Uh, that’s in California. Sorry, maybe you already knew that. Where am I?”

“Missouri, kinda middle of nowhere honestly. Sorry about that. Look this may not have anything to do with our specific wishes, right? Maybe things just got mixed up because we both made wishes at the exact same time? I don’t really know how all this Freaky Friday stuff works. But with any luck it’s temporary and everything will be back to normal tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How is this even real?”

“I don’t know. Look, there’s a set of car keys in my right front pocket, they’re to a black ‘67 Chevy Impala parked out front. It’s an automatic, can you drive?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, good. If you turn right out of the parking lot, go about a mile down the road to the Sleep EZ Motel, I’m checked into room 12. The room key is in my other pocket. My stuff is already inside and the room is paid up until the end of the week, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Just don’t hurt my car and don’t get me killed, okay?”

“Wait, that’s it? I’m just supposed to wait?”

“Unless you’ve got any other bright ideas?”

“What about Sam? My friends? What are you going to do?”

“Hopefully? Nothing. I’ll pretend to be you, promise not to get you hurt or screw up your life, okay? And like I said, with any luck this’ll all sort itself out in the morning.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Well, I guess we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Hey, Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a little about yourself.”

~~~

Dean hung up the call and deleted it from the phone’s call history. When this was all over, the last thing he wanted was for there to be any way for this to get traced back to him. He tucked the phone back in Jessica’s purse and looked in the mirror.

She was a hottie, Sammy had good taste. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, full pouty lips, and with a body… Dean gave a quiet whistle. Then he looked around furtively, as if anyone else could see him in the bathroom and somehow suspect him of doing something pervy, but then he thought, fuck it, possession is 9/10ths of the law, right?

Biting his bottom lip and pulling his shirt up, exposing a lacy bra and a really nice set of tits. Cupping them with his hands, feeling their weight, massaging them a bit and feeling his nipples get hard in response was hot enough but looking in the mirror was almost too much, like watching porn that you could actually feel. Until he caught his own stare, the face of some girl that he’d just spoken to on the phone looking back at him, and it hit home that this was someone else’s body that he was a guest in.

“Ah, shit.” he said to the reflection and pulled the shirt back down, smoothed it into place. He looked down, thinking about how weird it felt to not have a dick. He looked at the toilet reflected behind him. Maybe he should at least try to pee while he was in here.

“Sorry, Jessica, but somehow I don’t think either of us is going to be able to avoid peeing all night.” It took him longer than he'd anticipated, what’s so hard about peeing after all, but there was the confusing clothing and then the wiping, and new sensations that came with that, which he definitely tried to not pay too much attention to, and then the readjustment of the clothing.

When he was done and verified in the mirror that he looked normal, you know, for being someone completely different, he took a step towards the door and froze with his hand on the doorknob.

Okay, you can do this. Just go downstairs and pretend to be a girl. How hard can that be? Just go pretend to be Sam’s girlfriend. He’s only, like, the smartest guy you’ve ever known, who’s been trained since he was a kid to notice when a situation isn’t right, when someone isn’t themselves, when they’re actually a monster… Fuck.

He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. No, it’s cool. You’re cool. You can do this. You’ve bluffed your way through more dangerous situations with less information to go off of. And Jessica told you enough to fake it for one night. It’s just one night…

“Jess,” Sam was looking at him when he came down the stairs, his face lit up despite a shadow of concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Dean smiled and walked towards him.

As he got within reach, Sam wrapped one arm around Dean and pulled him in snug against his side. Then Sam leaned in and kissed the top of his head, just like Dean used to do before Sam had the audacity to get taller than him. Dean didn’t need to fake his smile but then a wave of guilt threatened to well up, he thinks you’re her, and he had to look down, swallowing thickly. Sam gently squeezed him in a one armed hug.

When they were kids, Sam had been very touchy-feely, clingy, always in close contact with Dean, casual, almost unconscious, but now, unlike then, it seemed a lot less casual. Heat, of a sort that wasn’t just physical, flared up with every touch. And Dean could have convinced himself that it was just Jessica’s body responding in a sort of pavlovian way to a still newish lover. But the problem was, Dean knew better.

Sam’s hands were huge and gentle and warm, so fucking warm, against his side, Jessica’s side, his arm, her arm, his back, not his, his hip… It was maddening but he just needed to play along, like it wasn’t destroying him. Over the years Dean had fine tuned his resolve to push all of this away and shut it up behind a door marked “Stuff You Don’t Get to Have", and now, with a series of simple touches, Sam had unknowingly jimmied the lock and opened the door. Sam was always so good at opening doors.

The summer between Sam’s junior and senior years of high school, before the Stanford bomb had been dropped on their lives, John had been chasing down yet another lead on what had killed mom. Dean had no idea what it was, where he went, because he’d given him practically no information, which was beyond frustrating, but kinda par for the course. But John had left them with Bobby because it had been on his way, apparently.

While they were there, Dean helped Bobby fix cars, and what they couldn’t fix, they’d strip down for parts. Sam had gotten a job at a restaurant washing dishes. It was grueling in the heat and he’d be reeking of garbage from taking out the trash at the end of the night. But Dean would always be there, waiting to drive him back to Bobby’s. He’d have a cold beer open and waiting for Sam when he was showered and in clean clothes. More often than not, they’d watch a movie on the tv, choosing from Bobby’s collection of vhs tapes. They’d take over Bobby’s couch, sprawling and slowly gravitating towards each other, leaning together and laughing over what they were watching. They kept their voices quiet so as to not wake Bobby, who inevitably fell asleep in his armchair or was already up in bed. Sam had been more relaxed and at ease than he had been in a couple of years.

Life was simple and Dean felt just about as free as he could ever remember feeling, without the weight of expectations, there in that safe place and time.

When John came back he was short-tempered and easily bristled. Things between John and Sam, always rough, had gotten steadily worse. John was harder on them both, trying to establish his authority, which only made Sam withdraw when dad was around.

Sam started talking about leaving together, just going somewhere and getting real jobs, the kind that paid in cash instead of scars. But Dean wouldn’t think about it, well, he wouldn’t let Sam think that he was thinking about it. Kept putting it off, until it was too late and Sam was leaving for real, full ride to fucking Stanford, and one last attempt to get Dean to come with him. He’d pulled Dean aside while he was packing, held onto his hand like they were still little kids, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to stay here, you can come to California…”

“I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dad…”

“Dad is going to self-destruct, Dean, this life is going to kill him and if you stay… if you stay,” Sam’s eyes were swimming in unshed tears that he swallowed back before continuing, “You don’t have to stay. You can do anything, Dean, anything.”

And Dean almost believed that, for one long torturous moment, looking at his brother, the only person that stood any chance of convincing him to break away from his dad, from this life, Dean could almost see it. Sam pulled him closer, slid his hands behind Dean’s neck and rested their foreheads together, silently begging. And that door in Dean’s mind cracked a bit and threatened to break open. Sam didn’t want all that, didn’t want… no. Dean slammed the door closed and locked it.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Dean took a deep breath and placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders did the hardest thing he’d ever done, he pushed Sam back enough so he could clearly see his face and said, “I’m not going.”

Shock, grief, embarrassment, hurt and anger all seemed to flash across Sam’s face at once, but it was the anger that stayed long after the others had been packed away. The anger was what Dean had seen when he closed his eyes that night, thinking about Sam on a Greyhound to California.

But here, now, he leaned in and closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of being next to his brother for the first time in years. He breathed in and could smell Sam,even though his mind was having trouble processing the scent. It was Sam, he smelled just like he always did, but it was like this body, which didn’t have the same sensory memory of a childhood spent together in the Impala and rundown motels, processed the scent through different filters, all of which were good, all of which lit up like fireworks with each breath, and shot that giddy, new love/lust feeling through him mixing with his memories.

Sam’s hand was curled loosely around Dean’s, Jessica’s, hip, his thumb resting on the waistband of his skirt again, long fingers flexing in and gently pressing into the hollow of his hip bone, and it was doing things that were steadily eroding what tenuous self-respect Dean had.

Sam would kill him if he found out that this was him and not Jessica. Shit, maybe he should have said something right away.

“Wait, so if the wish is what switched you then that means that when I kissed… Dean, you kissed me back!”

Yeah, no, too late for that now, he just needs to make sure that Sam never finds out.

They made small talk and drank. Jessica was a lightweight, which Dean found out as he was finishing off his third beer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a room lurch that hard on three beers. He stumbled slightly as he stood up to get another. Sam reached out a steadying hand.

“Whoa. Easy there.”

Dean laughed it off, “I got it, I’m good.. Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Dean said, softening it with a smile that may have been a bit more shmoopy than he’d intended, but it seemed to do the trick as Sam held up his hand in an “I give up” sort of gesture and let Dean duck into the kitchen.

There were photos stuck all over the fridge, and Dean recognized several of the people from tonight, including Sam. He studied them all while he drank a glass of water before grabbing a couple more beers from the fridge. There was a bottle opener on the coffee table and, sitting back down next to Sam on the sofa, Dean popped the top off one beer and sat it in front of Sam before popping the top of the other for himself.

Sam huffed an amused breath through his nose. Dean looked at him, took in the bemused look and asked, “What?”

“It’s nothing, just,” Sam laughed and shook his head, “you just reminded me of someone.”

Shit. “Oh? Who?”

Before Sam could answer, the conversation in the room reached shrill levels when Bria announced that her boyfriend Brad had proposed to her.

“Jess, I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything because tonight’s your night, but…” the bottle blonde held out her left hand to show off a glittering diamond.

Everyone spent the next half an hour or so congratulating Bria and Dean tried his best to play at being interested. He was worried that that somehow he’d given himself away but Sam was smiling at him again, all dimples and teeth and just pure fucking sunshine, and Dean inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and smiled back. He was simultaneously too drunk and way too sober for this situation.

~~~

Jess should have left and found the motel, but what was she going to do in some guy’s random motel room until morning? Pace around and worry? Staying put seemed like an easier option, doing nothing usually was, at least for now. Absentmindedly she picked up the glass of bourbon and took a sip. It burned a bit but tasted surprisingly okay. She thought that James obviously drank the stuff and his taste buds must be used to it. She kept sipping at it.

This couldn’t be happening, it had to be a dream.

She realized that she had to pee. She’d had to for a little while now but had been unconsciously putting off dealing with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ignored forever. Looking around, she spotted the restrooms. She turned around on the stool and stood up, ready to be wobbly after drinking and being in someone else’s skin. But she felt solid, and strong. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar again it occurred to her that she was going to have to use the men’s room.

This was most likely just a dream, she could do this.

Luckily, since the bar was practically empty, the bathroom was too. Stall or urinal, that was the question. She opted for a stall, just in case someone came in, it felt less weird that way. Closing the door behind her, she stared down at the toilet before looking at the front of the jeans she was wearing. For the first time she thought about the fact that some guy was in her body and would probably have to pee at some point too. Ugh.

Well, she could do this, it was just peeing, everyone does it, right? She unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped, then pulled the waistband of the boxer briefs away and down with her left hand while reaching in with her right.

Okay, yeah, weird.

A couple moments later, she was washing her hands at the sink. That was definitely an experience, odd but kinda fun in a rather intrusive feeling way.

She looked at her reflection, really studied it since she wasn’t being watched. She smiled, frowned, and tried a whole range of emotions. Damn, this guy was attractive. Big green eyes with lashes she would have killed for, freckles, perfect lips, and he was tall too, although not as tall as Sam. And he was in great condition, not like one of those guys that works out in a gym all the time, but strong and lean, solid. His hands were callused, knuckles scarred, like he worked with his hands.

“Who are you?” She asked as she looked in the mirror again before leaving the bathroom.

Sitting back down on the barstool, she caught the bartender’s attention. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jeremy.”

She nodded. “Can I get another, Jeremy?” and she tapped the empty bourbon glass with the silver ring on her right hand before sliding it forward.

He nodded, grabbed a bottle and poured a generous amount in the glass. “You feeling better?” he asked as he slid the glass back towards her.

She nodded, “Eh. It’s been a weird night.”

“Not the best birthday?”

“No. I was supposed to spend it with my boyf…” she stopped herself suddenly and tried to switch gears, “I had plans, that, no offense, didn’t include this fine establishment.” Shit, she’d almost outed this guy that she didn’t even know. Maybe he was into guys, but maybe not, how would she know, and it was always better to be safe than sorry when literally walking in someone else’s shoes.

Jeremy, if he noticed the slip, didn’t give any indication of being bothered by it. He leaned on one elbow against his side of the bar. “Are you traveling for work or something?”

She looked at him, honestly not sure how to answer that question. She knew she had a room at a motel nearby, but why?

Before she could answer, Jeremy continued, “I mean, there’s not a whole lot of here here, you know? This is not really a destination. And,“ he leaned a little closer and spoke in a more conspiratorial tone, “you’re like an eleven compared to the locals.” He nodded at the few other patrons and cracked a smile.

Okay, so maybe he had picked up on her little slip, but she didn’t think he was a threat, so she just laughed it off and took a sip of her drink.

~~~

Later, standing in the kitchen trying to follow some random friend group drama that could have almost been a telenovela storyline, Sam had come up behind Dean and wrapped him in a hug, hands crossed over his waist, his face nuzzled into his hair behind his ear. Dean’s eyes closed as a delightful shiver ran through him and settled between his legs.

“Ugh, get a room, you two!” Sam’s friend Brady said, teasingly.

Without looking, Sam grabbed a handful of chips out of the open bag on the counter and threw them right at the guy’s face, who actually managed to catch one in his mouth to raucous applause.

“Come on.” Sam breathed, low and quiet in Dean’s ear, and threading their fingers together, steered him out of the room.

“What? Where?”

“It’s getting late and I promised, didn’t I?”

Dean didn’t know how to respond because he had no idea what Sam was talking about.

~~~

Jessica sipped at the bourbon, not sure if she enjoyed the taste or not but the smooth burn was sort of growing on her. She sipped and she thought about what she should, or even could, do. Trapped in a stranger’s body, in an unknown town, states away from anyone she knows, what were her options? She could go find the motel room that matched the key in her pocket, and what? Watch crappy motel tv until she falls asleep in some stranger’s bed, hoping that she wakes up in her own body in the morning? That honestly sounded depressing as fuck. So she stalled, and sipped, and sat, and tried not to completely freak out.

~~~

His little brother was all hands, huge, long, spidery, gentle hands. Hands that covered so much, especially on Jessica’s smaller body. He smoothed over his… her long hair, down his… dammit, her arms, down her back. Eyes shining and bright, open as if to not miss anything, to catch every reaction as he walked backwards into a room to the right of the bathroom, Sam finally stepped back out of Dean’s space enough to let the warm flickering glow light up his face. The room was lit by half a dozen candles, on the dresser, the nightstand, on top of the bookshelf. Dean’s eyes went wide. Oh.

Oh no. This was, shit, this was… he looked at Sam. This was bad, he told himself. He couldn’t, it was too much, too far.

Sam, still smiling, was now a little unsure, a little embarrassed, “Too much?” His hand was rubbing gently up and down on Dean’s back, Jessica’s back, fuck, like he just couldn’t stop touching her.

Dean tried to say something, screaming internally at himself to find a way out of this, screwing things up between Jessica and Sam would be better than… He swallowed and opened his mouth, piecing together some sort of excuse, but all thought evaporated as Sam bit his bottom lip, all dimples and glinting eyes, and leaned in. Dean didn’t mean to smile, it was a reflex, a reaction to the extreme absurdity of the situation, that’s all, it wasn’t because his heart fucking swelled at seeing Sam all lit up and happy, looking at him like that.

Oh, I’m a bad, bad person.

He couldn’t look away from Sam’s mouth. And then Sam was too close to see and he nosed into his hair, speaking right into his ear, warm breath sending shivers through him, “I promised you, tonight is all about you. I want to make you feel so good, see how many times I can make you come.”

And Dean felt hellfire flare up through him, burning his cheeks, making his thighs and inner muscles clench around a deep needful longing. A gasp escaped, unbidden, from his open mouth.

You do this and you really are the scumbag you’ve always felt like. This is the line, right here, right now.

But this was something that he would never get to have normally, only this freaky occurrence giving him an impossible chance to have everything he’d ever wanted, even if just for one night, even if under duplicitous circumstances, in someone else’s body, even if it meant burning in Hell eternally for it.

One of Sam’s thumbs brushed lightly over Dean’s lips, as his fingers curled into his hair, turning his head and mouthing at his ear, nipping at and rolling his earlobe between his teeth before tracing kisses along the underside of his jaw. Dean breathed out a shiver that went all the way down to his knees. Sam kissed right up to the corner of his open mouth.

Dean didn’t believe Hell was real, not really, not an actual place like the bible thumpers would have you believe, but this, even ignoring every other horrible thing he’d ever done, this would surely damn him… but maybe it would be worth it. He could have this, and Sam never needed to know.

He turned his head just a little and caught Sam’s lips with his own.

~~~

With the bar being as quiet as it was, Jeremy took to making small talk as the evening wore on, nothing heavy, nothing too personal, just talking about sports teams (luckily a topic she knew a fair amount about) and cars (which she didn’t but luckily most guys didn’t take much encouragement to go on about that sort of thing without much more than a few interested prompts), but he was nice and kind of funny. It was better than stewing alone in her thoughts.

By the time Jess had had another bourbon, man did this James guy have a higher tolerance than she did, she had loosened up a lot.

So what if she’d probably experienced a psychotic break or something and was now trapped in this weird-ass dream, or maybe worse that she was really stuck in some dude’s body on her birthday and was now drinking alone in some shitty bar. She blinked, god was this what James’ life was like? Hopefully this was just a bad day or something. She at least had a party with all her college friends and Sam… Sam. Shit, James better be playing it cool, like he’d said he would, and not be doing anything to fuck things up between her and Sam.

~~~

For a moment, when he kissed Sam, SammySam oh fuck SAM, he’d forgotten all about his hands, like they didn’t even exist, like nothing existed outside of the bursts of confused chaos in his mind and how kissing Sam seemed to short circuit everything.

Good! No, no! I can’t. Stop. Ohhh god, right, this is right. Can’t. Fuck, finally!

Every part of his borrowed body felt like it was blushing, like he should be legit glowing, and there was this warm, aching, wetness that he was suddenly very aware of between his legs. It was a lot like how he normally felt when turned on, just not as focused, deeper inside and suffused throughout his body. He also found that he was very, very aware of his tits, every move, each breath as they lifted and fell, the way the fabric of the bra and shirt moved, every touch against Sam, he could feel all of it, and was aware of it all at once, and yet craved more. Sam’s hands were in his hair, cradling his head as they kissed. His lips tasted like home.

You can touch him!

And just like that, a lifetime of suppressed impulses and denied wants let loose as he placed his hands on Sam’s sides. Lightning-like desire, in all its terrifying glory, zapped through him, along his fingers and up his arms at the contact. Sam was solid, still lean and lanky with youth, but no longer a kid, not his little brother. Big.

It wasn’t like Dean never touched him, hell, he’d probably touched him more than anyone else. But that was different, it was checking on him, cleaning him up, bandaging and mending, little kid snuggles and hugs, holding his hand as they crossed the street, shoulders leaning together as they sat and joked quietly, just the two of them. This, though, this, was the edge of the map. Here, there be monsters, and his pulse pounded like he was on a hunt.

He ran his hands up over Sam’s chest, feeling the lines of the muscles beneath his shirt as Sam slid one of his hands down Dean’s back, pulling him closer, pressing them together. He didn’t stop at his waist this time, his hand continuing down over Dean’s ass to cup and squeeze. Dean moaned, just a little and in a way that he hadn’t expected, and his hands moved up across Sam’s shoulders and neck and into his hair, fingers tangling in his nape and pulling Sam down, or himself up, it didn’t matter which as long as they somehow got closer. Dean instinctively wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips when he lifted him up, one hand under Dean’s ass, across the back of his thighs, the other still cradling the back of his head. Sam shifted, holding Jessica’s weight easily and Dean wondered if Sam had gotten strong enough to lift his own actual body the same way. That thought made his breath hitch.

Sam pushed the door shut with one foot and then took three strides to cross the room before he dropped them both down onto the bed. Sam caught himself with his elbows, so his weight didn’t come down on Dean all at once as he bounced, a laugh bubbling out of Dean, met with a smile from Sam.

Sam looked at him for a moment, brushing hair from Dean’s face, Jessica’s face, Dean reminded himself. Sam was looking at Jessica like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and like he wanted to eat her up. Jealousy at the realization sparked in Dean, but it was quickly quelled because Sam looking at Jessica like that meant that Dean could look back through her in a way he never could through his own eyes.

He took in Sam’s bright, clever, magic-colored eyes, and his pointed nose that made him look fox-like and clever. That mole beside his nose, that Dean always wanted poke or to kiss, depending on the day. His hair that, from this angle, spread around his face like a dark halo and reminded Dean of that photo of Jim Morrison, the one where his arms were spread and his chest was bare. He looked like the hero of some Greek myth and he was painfully beautiful.

Then Sam was kissing him again, little nibbling kisses that wandered along his jaw, sending delicious shivers through him. Sam’s hand found the bare skin at his waist, fingers spread out across his stomach, up under his shirt to his ribs as he kissed his way down Dean’s throat.

Dean leaned his head to the side, stretching his neck as he arched up into Sam’s touch. Sam’s fingertips traced along the bottom of his bra, brushed the underside of his breast. Holy shit.

He’d gotten so caught up in the fact that this was Sam, SamSammy, that he’d almost completely glossed over the fact that he was in a woman’s body and was going to experience sex, with Sam, in a body with girl parts! What was, possibly, most disturbing was how onboard he was for this ride. Like, if he was completely honest with himself, the Sam thing had always been there, usually it was forcibly shoved into the furthest, deepest, darkest corner of his brain, and locked down tight, but sometimes it escaped and made it almost to the surface before he’s wrestle it back down again and did his best to ignore it. But beyond an occasional fleeting thought about what the woman he was with was feeling as he went down on her, thrust into her, well, he’d never actually fantasized about actually feeling whatever they felt. The prospect was surprisingly thrilling.

And this isn’t gay (or incest) if it’s Jessica’s body. That thought sent a cold shiver through him, followed very closely by a rancid tendril of self-disgust. What the hell was the matter with him?

But then Sam was cupping his breast, warm hand giving a massaging little squeeze, the nipple genty pinched in the V between his thumb and index finger, sending sparks of pleasure through him and distracting him from his thoughts. Dean had always liked having his nipples played with during sex, well, he really liked having everything played with during sex, but now, though? It was just so much more.

Sam pushed his shirt up, kissed him through the fabric of the bra, before giving a little, demanding “Off.” and worked both the shirt and bra off, undoing the back clasp one handed, that’s my boy. And then his mouth was on him again. Dean’s hands were on Sam’s shoulders, then in his hair as he lavished attention on his tits. And, yeah, definitely an area deserving of all the attention Dean was prone to give because it felt fucking awesome. Before the sensations could become too much, Sam would shift his focus to the other side, kissing and sucking, biting (which felt amazing) and pulling little gasps out of Dean.

Dean squirmed a bit, suddenly desperate for some sort of friction between his legs. Like he’d sensed it, Sam ran one hand down, using little more than the weight of his hand, over the fabric of his skirt, and rubbed, pushing a bit more with his middle and ring fingers, curving with his body, right down between Dean’s legs. It wasn’t quite like having his dick rubbed, the feeling a little more muted, more spread out. But the warmth that spread through him felt familiar as did the desire it inflamed. And he pushed his hips against Sam’s hand seeking more pressure.

The biggest difference Dean felt was where he normally would have wanted to push into his partner, to thrust into them, all he wanted now, the desire that consumed his mind, was that he needed something inside him, stretching him, filling him. This hollow, wanting, ache was new but made him unbearably warm and desperate. And he wondered, not for the first time, about how much of it was coming from Jessica’s muscle memory, because while it was new to him, it felt so perfectly right and natural in this body.

With a final playful pull on one of his nipples, sucking hard before letting it drop and the weight of the breast bounce back against Dean’s chest, Sam kissed his way down across his stomach. Jessica was a bit ticklish, it would seem, because the light scrape of Sam’s stubble sent delightful tremors through Dean. Not enough to make him laugh or pull away, but enough to make him smile.

This is crazy. This is crazy. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. This is some weirdass fever dream. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Sam reached the waistband of Jessica’s skirt, kissing and tonguing over Dean’s belly button as he worked loose the zipper and slid the fabric down, chasing it with his mouth. Dean lifted his hips so Sam could slide it the rest of the way down and off his legs, leaving him in just delicate, barely there, panties. They were silky and pink and Dean flashed back hard to six years ago, to Rhonda Hurley looking at him wearing her panties like she wanted to eat him alive, a look that was mirrored now in Sam’s eyes as he slowly looked up his… Jessica’s body. Dammit.

That look wasn’t Dean’s, it wasn’t for him. Sam was looking at Jessica like that. Fuck he shouldn’t do this. He needed to say something, stop this somehow.

“Sam…” He pleaded, but it came out too breathless and wanting, needing, and Sam smiled and leaned down, placed a kiss right on the silky pink stretched over the center of all the warmth Dean was feeling and hummed against him.

“Hmm?” and then he kissed a little lower and looked up from under his bangs as he gently stroked one hand up Dean’s thigh, fingers spreading so wide, hot and thrilling. He placed another kiss, this time below the curve of where Dean could see, so he couldn’t see Sam’s mouth as it pressed the fabric right into the wetness between his legs. Sam nosed in then and breathed deep. “All this for me?”

Dean bit down on his bottom lip, part of his mind still desperately trying to get control of this situation, to somehow, miraculously pull back before it was too late, when Sam looked up and locked eyes with him as he slowly, gently, bit the fabric covered mound, worrying it so slowly with his teeth before saying, in a voice deeper than Dean had ever heard him use, “God I want to eat you up. Will you let me? Let me just,” he licked, his tongue spread wide, right up over the now sodden crotch of those pink panties, “devour you?”

And the last vestiges of Dean’s attempts to be a better person crumbled. If he was going to hell, and he was definitely going, then he was going to make damn sure that he got the maximum value out of the trip.

“Yeah.” he said as he reached out and ran his fingers down Sam’s hair, his thumb brushing Sam’s cheek as Sam, SamMySammyMine, smiled his sharp, clever, mischievous smile and pulled the panties off and settled back between Dean’s legs, bending Dean’s knees up and over Sam’s shoulders. One hand going up Dean’s side, his long arm easily allowing him to cup around one breast, while the other spread, fingers splayed, across the tight skin below Dean’s navel, pressing down with gentle pressure to still the squirming Dean hadn’t even realized he was doing.

~~~

The last of the other customers paid up his tab and left. Jessica threw back the rest of her drink.

“What do I owe you?” she asked as she stood up to pull James’ wallet out of his pocket. The gravity in the room lurched violently to the left and she had to catch herself by clutching the edge of the bar. She barked out a laugh and sat back down on the stool. “Whoa.”

“Easy there.” Jeremy said. “No rush.”

He slid another glass of water over to her with a smile. She nodded and gratefully took a drink. It was cold and even though it still tasted a little too much like chlorine to be called good, she knew it would help.

“It’s cool, take your time, I’ve got a bunch of things to do to close up so you don’t have to leave just yet.” He said with a smile.

~~~

Sam’s attention focused between Dean’s spread legs, nosing into the trimmed little bush before licking along the folds of his pussy. His tongue, a wide and warm pressure, different from anything Dean had experienced before. It wasn’t like having his dick licked, which felt good right from the start. But the act was insanely intimate and definitely felt good, and the fact that it was Sam, samsamsam, made him shiver. And then the tip of Sam’s tongue dipped in and flicked across Dean’s clit and there it was! A burst of pleasure followed immediately by a desire for more.

A keening slipped from Dean’s throat, so much higher pitched than felt right to him. Looking down, all he could see was Sam’s shaggy brown hair and his fox-like eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, looking back at him. Sam slid his hand down, long fingers spreading Dean open. Dean felt the air stir between his legs, cooling around the edges, and he realized just how wet he was. Sam licked again, taking his time, dipping in and flicking across before gently kissing that swollen bud of nerves and then doing it again, and again. Dean gasped when he used his teeth, normally something, as a guy, that would be a complete no-go, but the nipping and nibbling here felt good, really good, primal and hungry, and Dean wanted more.

Sam pushed his tongue in, deeper each time, as he rubbed Dean’s clit, pressing and circling, circling and pressing, sucking, biting, again and again until Dean’s hands had to move because Sam was holding his hips still, so he reached down and brushed Sam’s hair back, so he could see him better, then stayed in his hair, just holding, trying not pull. And his other hand went to his breast, kneading and then pinching the sensitive nipple. Everything combined and built up like a wave swelling, growing more and more, frantic, urgent, faster, and then he was pulling on Sam’s hair, which made him groan into Dean, the vibrations sending Dean crashing over. Sam continued to gently massage Dean’s clit, while fucking into him with his tongue, as wave after wave rolled through Dean.

Just as Dean was able to breathe again, Sam shifted around a bit so that he had both hands working, the one still spreading Dean open and working his clit in slow circles, while he pressed first one finger then two into him.

There was a punk rock girl out near Salt Lake, what was her name? Brenda something, shit he couldn’t think, but she’d had a thing for sticking her finger in her partner’s ass when they fucked her, and while she’d been enthusiastically into it, and it hadn’t been bad, it was weird, kinda good weird, but weird. It was nothing like this.

Sam leaned back in as he worked up a steady rhythm, and started tonguing and sucking his clit again. Dean was so sensitive it didn’t take long for him to feel everything building again. Sam had worked another finger in and curled them forward. It was a tried and true move that Dean had used on many, many occasions, and now he knew why it always worked so well, as he gasped and came hard, muscles fluttering hard around Sam’s hand.

“Samm… Sam,” remembering just in time, “please, oh fuck, mmm, I…”

“Hmm?”

“I need,” but he hesitated before voicing the rest, bit his bottom lip, was he really going to ask for it? From Sam?

“What? What do you need, baby?” Sam asked, his voice lower than Dean had ever heard it, deep but tender and pressed right between his legs, and damn if that didn’t light something up on the switchboard in Dean’s head.

No one but Dean would ever know if he just asked for what he wanted.

“Fuck me?” he said, quiet and unsure.

“Hmm, thought I’d stay here for a little longer, make you scream my name.” Sam slowly nosed in again and licked. “You taste so good.”

“Sam.”

Bright eyes staring up at him. “Mmm?”

“Are you really going to make me beg… on my birthday?”

Sam nodded as he nipped at the inner crease of Dean’s hip.

Dean let out a frustrated groan, “Please? Get up here and fuck me, Sam.”

Sam smiled, “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He sat back, pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe his hand and face before tossing it onto the floor. Shit, Sammy had filled out since the last time Dean had seen him and, reminding himself that he could look, he let his eyes linger on his brother’s torso. He realized he was mentally inventorying the scars he could see, there were no new ones, which was good. Sam’s belt buckle jangled a little as it came undone and he unbuttoned his jeans. Sam stood and pushed them down along with his underwear, black boxer briefs, and then was kicking them off to the side and slowly crawling back onto the bed.

Holy shit! HIs baby brother was built like a Greek god! How often was he working out? He was all slick, cut muscle, long limbs, and… In what universe was it even remotely fair that his little (no longer the operative word) brother had gotten bigger than him, apparently in every way? Dean was not a small guy, over six feet and packing a generously sized dick that he’d never, not once, gotten any complaints about. In fact, he’d received more than enough compliments to give him a, possibly, over-inflated sense of pride. Dean had an amazing cock, that he knew how to use. It was a source of great joy for him. And, he soothed his ego, it was hard to get a proper sense of scale, not having access to his own hands. But then Sam was grinning at him with his wickedly clever eyes and bright, dimpled smile again and Dean felt himself smiling back, his cheeks flushing as Jessica’s body responded to a new wave of want.

Sam crawled up over Dean, stretching his long body and skimming, not quite touching, over him, supporting his weight on his knees and hands. Just as Sam zeroed in on his lips and when Dean anticipated he would kiss him, Sam kept stretching past, reaching over and easily sliding open then closing the nightstand drawer. When he pulled back, a condom packet held by a corner in his mouth, he dragged it lightly across Dean’s skin, tickling slightly and forcing a giggle out of him that Dean would cringe over later when he replayed the moment. Sam sat back on his heels and tore open the packet. A wild thought, a desire, flashed through Dean, causing his cheeks to burn.

“Wait,” he said breathlessly.

Sam stopped and looked at him, concern overriding some of the confidence he’d shown just seconds before. But Dean was sitting up and reaching out, running his hand down Sam’s thigh as he smiled Jessica’s wide smile.

“Just, let me…” and he slid his hand up, his gaze meeting his grasp as he stroked Sam’s length. Hot, velvety soft skin twitched in the circle of Jessica’s manicured fingers. Dean blinked slowly, his eyes threatening to close, to block out such a transgression, but he made himself look, burning the image into his memory. He licked his lips as he shifted so he could lean forward. He just needed to know… if he was here, if he was doing this, then he needed it all, there’d never be another chance. He rubbed his thumb through the drop of precum beaded up on the head of Sam’s cock, spreading it slick across the head, and then kissed there. He looked up to find Sam staring down, eyes dark, mouth open, a blush high on his cheeks like he was drunk, and Dean licked slowly, tasting as he stared up at him.

Dean had never gone down on a guy before, although he’d received plenty of propositions over the years. But he’d eaten out more than his fair share of women and every one had tasted different, each one unique and special and divine, and this really wasn’t much different from that. Salty, a little bitter, not bad, just intimate. And he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a deep satisfaction to sucking the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam’s fingers slipped into Jessica’s hair, fingers spanning the width of her head and gently holding there, not pressing, not pulling, as he let out a slow breath.

Dean reached up with his free hand and took the opened condom packet from Sam as he swirled his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock. And then he pulled back and slid the condom down and gave it a couple slow pumps with his fist to make sure it was rolled all the way down.

He sat up and crawled forward, capturing Sam’s bottom lip as he pressed against him. Sam’s hand let go of his hair and like earlier, he pulled Dean in like he weighed nothing, hands engulfing his hips as he settled Dean on his lap. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, reveling in the feel of his tits crushed up against Sam’s chest and Sam’s erection hot and hard between them. His hips rubbed forward, like they were seeking friction on autopilot.

“Sam,” he keened.

Sam lifted him again and lined himself up and lowered Dean onto him. Dean’s eyes rolled closed as he stretched and was filled in a way he’d never even dreamed. He’d never be able to claim that again, he was sure he’d never get the perfect feeling of them fitting together like this out of his mind. And as his hips once again seemed more in control of things than he was, he gave some experimental grinds, and looked at Sam whose eyes were closed, his brow furrowed a little in concentration, and he looked… beautiful.

“Sam?”

Sam opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide in the candlelight and a look of pure want on his face, and he was the most gorgeous thing that Dean had ever seen. He circled his hips, trying to find the leverage to do more when Sam lifted him again, easily taking Jessica’s weight in his arms and began to thrust up. As he repeated the movement, again and again, Dean let his head fall back, his eyes closing, Sam’s mouth kissing hungrily along his jaw and down his neck, teeth nipping, stubble on his chin rough, but never hurting, never bruising, no it was just enough to feel all the way down through to where they were connected.

With his eyes closed and head tipped back, the weight of Jessica’s hair hanging down, bouncing with every forceful thrust, Dean could only hold on, losing himself in the sensations. Sam ran a hand up Dean’s back, his hand tangling in and gently but insistently pulling, causing Dean to arch further back. Sam kissed down, captured one of his nipples, his other hand sliding low across Dean hips, thumb finding and pressing into his clit and the combination of all those sensations pushed him up and over that cliff again. Being so full, having something… his brother’s cock, a thought that he really shouldn’t be so completely good with… inside him, for his muscles to squeeze, and with so much skin-on-skin contact for him to clutch onto, pushed everything up, and up, and over.

When Dean could focus again, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Sam’s, Sam who was still fucking him, and holy hell if his (not so) little brother wasn’t a goddamn freight train. The thought brought a ridiculous swelling of pride with it, some misguided feeling that he’d had a hand in raising this absolute god of a man. Dean smiled, his mouth open with every breath that Sam pushed out of him, and he traced his fingers across Sam’s face, thumb dragging across his bottom lip before Dean leaned in and kissed him.

“Come on, Baby. Come for me? I want to feel you, come on.” he said in between kisses. Sam’s arms tightened around him, his pace speeding up. “ Come on, Sammy.” Dean breathed and he felt Sam’s body tense. He leaned back enough to see Sam’s face as he climaxed. Little aftershocks from Dean’s last orgasm were still pulsing through him as Sam twitched inside him.

When their heavy breaths slowed down to contented sighs, Sam pulled out, removed the condom and tossed it in a small trash can by the nightstand and twisted the two of them so they could fall onto their sides on the bed, his arms still around Dean, facing each other.

Sam brushed a thick lock of hair out of Dean’s face, his eyes alight with reflected, flickering candlelight. He was sweaty and his cheeks were still flushed and he looked contentedly fucked out and Dean couldn’t stop staring at him.

A bemused smile flashed across Sam’s face after a moment. “What?”

Dean didn’t have the words, so he just smiled with his borrowed face, hoping it conveyed the best part of the crazed tangle of things he was feeling. When Sam returned the smile, Dean leaned in and kissed him one last time before snuggling into his brother’s broad chest, his eyelids growing heavy.

Sam placed a kiss on the top of his head. “Happy birthday, Jess.”

Dean was glad that Sam couldn’t see his face because he knew the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes anymore.

Dean lay there until Sam’s breathing evened out into sleep. And then he steadfastly refused to give into the looming tidal wave of guilt that was threatening to drown him, closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of Sam, letting all the memories it triggered carry him, finally, to sleep.

~~~

“So, I’m curious,” she asked, “you don’t seem too enthused about… wait, where are we again?”

Jeremy laughed, “Eastfield.”

“Right, right. You don’t seem too enthused about Eastfield. And you’re young, seem intelligent, so why…” she gestured around the bar. “You from here? Got family or something?”

“Nah, I mean, not exactly. I grew up near here. Went to college. While I was there, my dad got sick, cancer, so I came home to take care of him. And, I don’t know, after he passed I just didn’t go right back and now,” he shrugged as he moved glasses around, “I don’t know. I’m just sort of here because here feels as good as anywhere to be.”

Jessica nodded and took a sip of water.

“What about you? You’ve been here all night and haven’t mentioned what you do for a living once.” Jeremy carried a crate of glasses into the back, Jessica could hear it being set down, and then he was back again, leaning up against the bar across from her. “Most people don’t shut up about their jobs when they get talking here. It’s just a safe topic, you know? Not too personal but something that eats up most of their lives. But you?”

Jessica shrugged and smiled, taking another drink of water. Jeremy squinted his eyes a bit, pursed his lips.

“What if I guess?” He looked her up and down, clucking his tongue quietly. “A hit man for the Mafia? Is the Mafia still a thing?” He smiled.

She laughed, “I don’t know. But no, I’m not in the Mafia.” I think, she added internally.

Jeremy looked at her, watched her mouth as she smiled. “Are you a model or something… which as I’m saying it, sounds super cheesy.” he said with a bit of a blush rising high on his cheeks above his beard. He was flirting and she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t herself. He was flirting with the gorgeous guy who’d been drinking alone at his bar all evening.

“I don’t really want to talk about what I do, it’s just not…” she shrugged and took another drink of water, licking her lips. The room was still spinning a bit and she felt all warm and fuzzy, like this was all a weird but pleasant dream.

Jeremy leaned forward onto his elbows, only a foot or so of distance between them now. “SInce I’m already kinda making a fool of myself… you are, you know… really hot and it seems like a crime against humanity for you to be alone on your birthday.”

He had nice brown eyes, wide and clear and kind, and what should have been an overdone line came across as genuine. The only other guy she knew that could have pulled that off was Sam. Thinking of him caused a heavy lump of guilt to form in her stomach.

“And yet, here I am.”

He slid one hand closer, fingertips just brushing the backs of her knuckles where her hand was still curled around the glass.

She stared at his hand and thought about Sam, who was the best man she’d ever known, smart, sweet, funny, weirdly mysterious, how did he even know half the shit he knew? And she knew so little about his life, his childhood, just enough to know that it had been nomadic and traumatic. His mom had died when he was a baby, his dad hadn’t handled that well, and he had a brother, but he never wanted to talk about them. He was home, thinking he was with her (hopefully) if James wasn’t screwing everything up. But at the same time, the idea that Sam might not be able to tell that it wasn’t her… well, it rankled.

She looked over Jeremy’s shoulder and saw James’ reflection looking back. Maybe it was the drinks, she thought as she shifted her gaze back to Jeremy, or the dream-like unrealness of the entire evening, but she slowly licked her lips thinking about what it would feel like to kiss a guy using someone else’s mouth, a man’s mouth? Would it feel different?

There was only one way to find out.

She pushed up and forward slightly as Jeremy leaned further across the bar. They both hesitated when there were only a couple of inches of space between them, giving the other a chance to back out. Shyness was never something that Jessica suffered from. Quite the opposite. Throughout her life she’d been accused of being too forward, too bold and daring, too aggressive when she wanted something. She knew she was impulsive, but YOLO, right? She slid her hand around the back of Jeremy’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

The beard was something new to her. It was scratchy-soft and tickly in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. His lips were soft though and he knew what to do with them. After a moment, they broke apart.

“Hey, come around. I, uh, I want to give you something.”

When she stood up this time she was steady. Walking around the bar, she felt a flush of excitement, like a spreading fire flowing from her cheeks, down her chest, and into her gut. She followed him through the doorway and into the back room where Jeremy turned and pushed her up against a wall with a big, laminated, OSHA poster taped to it.

He was a couple inches shorter, so she had to tip her head down to meet his lips, a feeling so opposite of what she was used to that it added to the overall surrealness of the situation. And then he stepped even closer, one leg wedging between hers, pressing against her, his hands cupping her head, fingers rubbing into her scalp, such a different experience with James’ short hair, but pulling a pleased noise from somewhere deep in her chest. When his hips ground against hers, she was startled at the sensation. All that pooling warmth in her gut was suddenly rushing to her groin, focusing with growing insistence. She could feel Jeremy, already so hard, pressing back and the sensation left her breathless.

“Can I?” He tipped his head down as his hand skated over the front of her jeans, lightly tracing the bulge of her cock. Shit, she had a cock and this guy wanted to…

Okay, so she didn’t know if James was gay, or into guys at all, and she was seriously dating Sam, she was, but when would she ever be given the chance to experience this from this side of the equation again?

“Yeah.” she said.

Jeremy kissed her again as he undid her belt and jeans, sliding his hand down to feel her through her briefs. Her hips pressed forward, chasing the warmth and touch of his hand. And then his mouth was gone. He sank to his knees as he pulled the waistband of her briefs down and freed her straining cock. And it was like watching porn that she could feel, looking down the long stretch of her borrowed body, flat stomach and hard on, flushed dark pink with short, dark curls around the base. And then Jeremy’s tongue licked slowly up along the bottom of her shaft before flicking across the tip. Oh! That felt… good! One hand gently held the base, angling the length for better access, while his other hand cupped warm around her balls, lifting and squeezing in a way that made a small gasp escape her lips. Jeremy stared up at her as his tongue darted out again and swirled around the head of her cock, like he was trying to burn the image into his memory. But when he sucked her into his mouth and she groaned and placed a hand gently in his hair, her mouth falling open, his eyes sank closed and he got to work.

Jessica had given head, she knew her way around a blowjob and took pride in the responses she got, but to feel it, oh it added an entire other level. She couldn’t help but note what worked vs. what didn’t work vs. what really worked. She had also been on the receiving end of oral in her own body many times, something that Sam was particularly fond of (and extremely good at), but while this was similar, it was also so completely different, everything sort of flipped around in a delightful way. Her head tipped back against the wall as she let the feelings take over. Despite having no direct experience on this side of a blowjob, she felt confident that Jeremy seemed to know what he was doing. She didn’t hold back her responses and he picked them up and ran with them.

She was still tipsy enough and this was all still so new and weird, she had no idea how long it lasted before she felt herself tensing up, everything building as he worked at an increasingly frantic pace. As if he could sense how close she was, and he probably knew better than she did, he pulled back just enough to look up and say, “Come on” before swallowing as much of her as he could. A couple more pumps and the pressure in her burst, flooding out of her in deliciously violent spurts, all of which Jeremy greedily took.

When she could focus again, and looked down, he had his own dick out and was coming in his hand, his forehead resting against her thigh, still on his knees. She ran her hand through his hair, unconsciously petting him as they both came down.

When he sat back and fixed himself back into his pants, she did the same. She offered him a hand and pulled him back up to his feet. Awkwardness threatening to set in, she just smiled at him, “Thanks seems like a bit of an understatement.”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for hot birthday boys.” He laughed, cheeks glowing with a deep flush. “No pun intended.”

Her smile spread wider.

Walking out of the bar a few minutes later, Jeremy’s number written on the receipt in her pocket, only feeling a little awkward at how quickly the whole interaction wrapped up because he seemed honestly content, Jessica looked around the parking lot. James had said it was a classic car, but she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. The long, shiny, sleek lines of the absolute beast of a vehicle that was waiting for her was a surprise though.

She fished the keys out of her pocket and opened the door with a creaking squeak that spoke of old joints formed from heavy, solid, metal. She slid in behind the wheel and pulled the door shut.

“Okay. Just an easy drive over to the motel. You can do this.” Turning the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Nothing quiet or subtle about this car, but it felt right on a weird, deep level that she wasn’t sure was coming from her. She eased out of the bar’s parking lot and onto the blessedly deserted street, keeping it a bit below the speed limit, even though she could feel the car practically begging to go faster.

Then there was the motel, and she parked outside room 12, locked the car and went inside. The place was… well it wasn’t going to ever earn even three stars on any travel guide ever again, but it was sorta clean and had the basics covered, a bed, nightstand, little desk with a chair next to a dresser with a tv on it, open closet, and a dingy bathroom. She dropped the keys onto the nightstand, along with James’s wallet and phone, as she sat heavily on the side of the bed.

Exhaustion settled heavily on her and she felt like she was made of lead, but still managed to pull off her boots and started to lay down before stopping herself and grabbing the cheap pen with the motel name on it. She scribbled a quick note on the receipt, under Jeremy’s name and number. And then was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

~~~

The distinctive smell of stale, decades old, cigarette smoke and bleach hit him as Dean woke with a start. Sitting up and taking immediate stock of himself and his surroundings. Sunlight streamed in around the curtains, lighting up copious dust motes. The distant sound of a door banging shut reverberated through the walls.

He was still wearing what he’d been wearing when he’d left his body last night and had been sleeping stretched out on top of the covers on the bed in his motel room. His duffle bag lay seemingly untouched on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He rubbed his hands over his face and scrubbed at his hair a few times.

His wallet, keys, and phone were on the nightstand next to a note, which he picked up and read. The handwriting wasn’t his. And as he looked he realized it was likely written by two different people.

Jeremy 555-823-3467 was written in one hand, while the rest was another, messy and unsure.

You may not want to go back to that bar.

“Huh.” he tossed the note onto the bed, got up and walked to the window. A quick check outside verified that his car was there and seemed in one piece.

~~~

Jessica woke up slowly, warm and comfortable. She stretched and felt the familiar feel of her own body and smiled. The smile dropped entirely as she realized that she was naked and not alone. Sam, also naked, stirred next to her as she moved.

The night before settling like a brick in her stomach. She knew what she’d done, and would carry the guilt of cheating on Sam, but if she was honest with herself, which she tried hard to be, she believed that the extraordinary circumstances were something that she would have regretted not taking advantage of. Right or wrong, she’d made her choice and she’d live with that. But the idea that some random guy had used her body the same way, with her boyfriend, and that it turned out that Sam hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which either said a lot about how poorly he knew her, or about how good James was at pretending to be someone he didn’t really know, well, that weighed on her in a much more unpleasant way.

It wouldn’t be for another year and a half before that strange, surreal night would come sneaking back into her life in a fittingly bizarre and unexpected way.

Looking at that too handsome face again standing so close to Sam as she flipped on the light in their living room, made the floor feel like it was going to drop out from under her.

“Sam?”

“Jess. Hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Sam said, still slightly out of breath.

She blinked in surprise, “Wait, your brother Dean?”

Sam had never shown her any pictures of his brother, had only spoken about him a few times, and had made it sound like they were distant, estranged. She hadn’t ever questioned… why would she have questioned? This, what the hell was this? But before she could form any of her swirling thoughts into words, Dean stepped forward, an over-the-top leering grin on his face.

“Oh, I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league.”

There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in his eyes, but she still felt the hairs on her arms rise with a sense of danger at the aggressive eye contact he’d fixed on her.

Later, as she watched Sam pack and assure her that he would be back in time for his interview on Monday, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was looming nearby. But she’d never told Sam about that night, it was insane, how could she have even begun to explain it? So she didn’t know now how to articulate why she didn’t want Sam to go. The idea that James was actually Sam’s brother, that he’d… that they’d…

Sam kissed her goodbye with promises of seeing her soon and then was out the door. A familiar rumble of an engine starting up outside, and then they were gone.

#wincest #wincest fanfiction #non con #extremely dubious consent #body swap #gender swap #sam/jessica #dean/sam #long post

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