#post season 15

[raspberryjellybrains]

Visitor

Tags: post-canon, sam-centric, Jack as God

Warnings: minor allusions to canon major character death (Dean)

Author's Note: hi :) this is my first time posting fic on tumblr, so if you have any tips or corrections, please let me know? that being said, I originally posted this on wattpad a few months ago but hey. new platform, new me, let's pretend this is new content. this fic was inspired by a some lovely seaside cottage art by @samkermit that I fell in love with and decided to write for!

// // // // // // // //

Jack is coming today.

     Though, he's not exactly arriving, not so much as he's just manifesting out of the Atlantic mists into the cottage's vicinity whereupon he will enter, and Sam will be happy to see him. Sam knows Jack knows what this place looks like normally, books strewn about the table and everything neat if not clean, but he still cleans it. It's a formality, a bygone ritual, but it's the gesture that counts and Jack might even ask why he did it, and Sam can pretend he's not explaining manners to God.

     At the moment, though, the kettle is whistling hot and blowing steam through the open window and into the pleasantly chilly spring day. The sun is out, for once, and it slants morning-warm through gauzy curtains and onto the gnarls of a wooden table top with hands resting nervously upon it. Sam knows the sun is out because Jack is coming because Jack likes sunny days and the Earth likes providing them for him. When he comes around, the washed out beach, neglected in its age, seems to come alive for its God, grasses showing just how soft and green they can be and sand how bright and slick it is. Sam isn't offended that it seems to do the opposite for him, he's born of sulfur and gunpowder and everyone knows that harbingers death.

     The toaster pops, and the bread is unevenly toasted. Sam really doesn't mind, it never is. He likes that he can get every level of toasted on one slice of bread, it adds interest to the routine. He pours the hot water over the peppermint tea bag and gently spreads butter onto his toast from the porcelain butter plate on the counter. It's old, and the small flowers painted on are flaking off but it's the nature of the object that counts. Everytime he sees it, Dean's voice echoes in his head that he's turning into a grandma, which is nice to hear even if it fills him with some melancholy.

     The plate and mug clink pleasantly when Sam sets them on the table amongst ancient manuscripts and recent newspapers. The latter are folded and wrinkled, but he still reaches out to do the daily crossword. Sam does this every week, turns in the clipping under an old fashioned, anonymous name that sounds like it belongs to one of the many old ladies of the area and he would feel worse about it if the $20 didn't pay for his groceries and this weren't a mostly affluent area. The only reason Sam could live here was that he'd bought the house for $1,000 and used the remainder of his fake credit cards to pay for supplies he used to fix it up. As such, he felt connected to the little place with its mismatched furniture, vintage cabinetry, and time-line of windows.

The final word of the crossword was currents.

    The tide was falling, so Sam picked up his dishes and cleaned them with a lone washrag, bubbles swirling across the pale porcelain and rinsing off into the sink where they sat and popped in the drain. He grabbed a new rag, and began wiping counters and cabinets. Stray sand and salt came away, leaving them in their original pale and shining state. He moved to the table and began collecting the newspapers into a stack, tied them with string, and threw all but this week's into the recycle bin. Even if he hadn't put them there, Sam suspected they would end up recycled anyway. Jack doesn't like pollution. Books got put on shelves, pens assorted neatly in the cup, and cushions straightened. Though, when Sam reached up to dust the tops of shelves something twinged in his back and he cursed the violence of his youth. Good habits had staved off the worst of aging, but Sam still had a couple arthritic fingers, failing eyesight, and a particularly insistent muscle in his back. Jack tried to heal him, once, when he was new to the pain, but it didn't do anything so they never tried it again. It was alright, aging, especially considering he'd never planned to do it. Lonely, sometimes painfully so, but Jack would come and the world would brighten.

     Around eleven, the phone rings. It's a hunter, asking for information on some obscure monster. This one calls him Chief, knows Sam through the remaining Apocalypse World hunters, not as the legendary Samuel Winchester. It's better that way, he doesn't want young and righteous hunters finding and ending him, he doesn't think. It would make Jack sad, and he'd miss the cottage and its gulls when he went to live a Midwestern fantasy in heaven with Dean. He's adjusted to the solitary life he leads with his books and newspapers and crashing waves. At this point, Sam almost doesn't want to leave, which is such a strange sensation it took a couple years for him to adjust. This place is his home, not in the way that Sam's craved his whole life, but in the ways that matter. The hunter is cordial, for once, and seems to appreciate the help. Sam hangs up.

     Jack shows up an hour later, solidifying out of the crashing ocean and sand dunes. The early spring flowers perk up a bit, opening wider and brighter in eagerness for his arrival. Sam greets him with a smile and superfluous gesture to enter, where two mugs of warm water and a plastic container of girl scout cookies wait on the low slung and wobbly coffee table. Already, the solitary cottage seems warmer, the dust motes dancing where they'd been swept up by Sam's cleaning efforts and the muted color of the paint warmer. They skip pleasantries, Jack telling Sam of some small animal he'd found in the Gobi Desert hiding in a cave and Sam returning with a National Geographic article he'd read on desert ecosystems awhile back. Sam doesn't mention that was over a decade ago, he'd long since unsubscribed. Jack doesn't inquire. It goes back and forth and around like for hours, sun rising and sinking, kissing the earth as it dies with fiery fervor.

     Then, at once, Jack leaves and everything is back to what it was. The cottage by the sea seems doubly lonely in the immediate time after Jack leaves. Jack reminds him what people feel like, even if Jack is the ruler of the universe he still laughs and sighs and chats like a human and Sam misses those things terribly. On the worst days, he considers that the clouds have moved into him, leeched out all capacity for humanity in the way that nothing else had. Those are the days that Sam considers calling Jack here and demanding with a vehemence he's lacked for years that Jack let him die. But he doesn't. Jack is lonely, too, when he walks on the Earth. Sam can feel his sorrow in the way that only those who share it can, so he remains here on the beach in his small cottage amongst old and mismatched things with unevenly cooked toast and constantly calling gulls.

Afterall, Jack is coming again next week.

[dancinginthesliverglow]

A Second Chance 2/2

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Adam Milligan/Michael

Rating: General Audiences

Adam looked across the street, and saw a man staring straight at him. His eyes were unblinking, fixed on Adam. He was about the same height as Michael with brown skin and a trimmed beard. He was wearing a long grey overcoat and black shoes. Adam had never seen him before, and yet something about the way the man held himself looked oddly familiar.

And yet something about the man staring straight at him, unblinking, wasn’t human.

The look in the man’s eyes… it wasn’t malicious or threatening. It was soft, as if he were looking at someone he loved.

The man’s eyes flashed a painfully familiar shade of blue, and Adam felt his heart stop.

[alovesthis]

Even if Things Crumble Again

Dean Winchester/Reader 

Word Count: 1.5k 

Warnings: none? slight smut, lil fluff, post s15/alt.ending

A simple touch. A graze on his hand. Soft squeezes upon the back of his neck. Clenching fingers around his waist, with his flannels and tees bunching up as you hold him. A signal to let him know you were real, that you were here and never letting him go, never leaving. It's everything to him just like it is to you.

Everything felt surreal. From finally saving the day, the whole entire world and everyone's lives to catching up on rest and transitioning the Bunker into something more before leaving it to Sam and Eileen to keep running. You saw it in his eyes, hope still churning inside his body for something he never got his hands on, something his brother finally has. That's when you knew that it was time for you and Dean to move on from it all; the hunting and the recovery. After every heart wrenching minute with Chuck and all the emotional turmoil everyone endured together, he slowly began to recover from it all. And he wasn't alone -- he still isn't.

There were times where it got hard for both you and him. Nightmares for the first couple months after defeating Chuck and losing people, nightmares that felt so real it began to hurt. Waking up in the middle of the night or feeling numb, not knowing if being free was actually real. But all it took was touches. A simple touch. A graze on his hand. Soft squeezes upon the back of his neck. Clenching fingers around his waist, with his flannels and tees bunching up as you hold him. A signal to let him know you were real, that you were here and never letting him go, never leaving. It's everything to him just like it is to you.

It was big, but small enough to make you and him feel safe. Surrounded by tall, evergreen trees and mountains that stretched across the waters had become apart of your home. Wooden porch wrapped around the entire home, neutral colors with hints of bright shades of green from the plants everywhere. Together you spent most of your time outside of the cabin like home, on a porch bench that was cushioned, with coffee and a dog that rested on Dean's lap or occasionally the wooden floor. It was times like this that made him feel finally okay to live and enjoy the peace he found with you.

More touches, tighter squeezes and hugs assured him every second of every day that nothing will ever change or pull you two apart ever again. Although all the intimate moments shared with Dean was beautiful, even fun at times, you were finally able to spend it at ease and any pace you wanted. His favorite part of this forever with you was that you never had interruptions, no more quick and messy and small beds in motels or the bunker. Everything was better, heightened and he felt like this is what you both finally deserved. Your own home together. A bed. No more moving around through motels, or hiding. The mornings filled with nothing but the sounds of uneven breaths, sweaty bodies under the thick covers. He loves that, the lazy mornings and not a fear inside of him. Just focused on you, your body and making each other feel good.

Then, there's the nights where it really did feel like it was too good to be true. The nights where it was late and the both of you couldn't sleep, you'd stay up all night and talk or hold each other while popping in a movie. But when it came to bed, neither of you felt at ease until his body was tangled up with yours, him inside you and expressing the proof of his love for you, hoping you still feel the same.

"Fuck," dean pants out in bliss, "I need you. Forever, sweetheart. I-"

"Dean, fuck, I love you." You gasp out, holding onto his muscles. "I'll always need you."

He says your name repeatedly, like he's trying to get a hold of you but you're there in his grip not going anywhere but to euphoria. His head rests into the crook of you neck, lips pressing against your pulse. The speed is fast but not erratic, hard movements that make the both of you gasp for air and letting our curses and each others names when you obtain air.

"Is it?" He asks through his shaken breaths. You know what he means; is it real? Is this what you want, need? This isn't a game anymore, right? And it isn't. All your feelings, every last one of them, they're all real.

You throw your arms over shoulders, one hand grabbing his neck and threading your fingers in his hair, pulling softly but enough to make him groan. You squeeze him too and he moans louder, letting a curse slip out of his mouth. "Baby, is it?" He repeats.

"Oh..." You close your eyes, head slightly lifting to bite his shoulder. "It is, baby. It always has been."

"Fuck, it always will be." You moan, finally letting go with him. "Dean."

Those nights in bed never went away, but what did is the constant reassuring. Because slowly, Dean trusted and understood that it's real, he's finally done with being controlled and knows how you feel. You love him. He loves you.

It took a while for the two of you to really get used to being together alone. Having a place to call home, out in the open and no distractions and finally being free. Free. A foreign word, concept something the two of you never really had. Being completely free to be who you are both individually and together. You learned more and more about each other every day, something you both didn't think was possible considering all the things you've been through together. He knew everything about you, and you him. But when you learned a small thing about him, it made you happy. And when he learned something about you, it made his heart thump and his body warm with admiration. Months and months spent in your home, just the two of you, adjusting to finally getting to live and retired from the hunting life, went by.

Early Saturday mornings were your favorite. Before he would go off and do some handy work, or before you'd spend the day indulging in all things that the hunting life never let you do, you sat together on the porch bench.

"You know...it's all over." You say to him, as you hold him on the porch bench as he lays on your lap. He breathes out and closes his eyes, a hand grabbing yours with need. You feel him move around ... "It's been a year already and it's all real. Us, the home our dog...Eileen and Sam. We get to live. We are living. We don't need to live to survive anymore we can just...we can just be. We can breathe without worrying, rest without anticipating something bad. Trust me when I say all of this and you, is everything I need. I'd even be fine with just having you and nothing else."

He exhales a laugh and opens his eyes, staring up at you. "Just me? No dog, no beautiful view or the hikes?"

"I love it all, I do." You smile down at him. "I'm just saying, even if things crumble again and this all disappears, I'd be okay living without it all if it means I only have you."

"Those are pretty powerful words." He says, adding your nickname you absolutely adore ever since he made it up. That's one of the many endless reasons you love about him.

"And I mean every one."

He reaches up, this time it's him giving you a soft graze to your cheek with the back of his hand. Softly, like he's barely touching you, slowly his hand rubs back and forth making you flustered.

"I love you, for saying that and being here." He whispers. "But let's not think about the what if's or the bad. You said it yourself, we get to breath now. Live."

Your lips curl up into a smile as you reach for his wrist and hold it. Looking down into his glazed eyes, you bend your neck and kiss his forehead. That's one of the many endless reasons he loves about you -- all your little, gentle gestures and the way it makes him feel.

"Yeah, and we get to do it together." You sit back up, continuing to look out at the trees dancing and the leaves falling, the sun hiding behind swaying clouds. You remove your hand from his wrist, letting it fall to his head, fingers running through his growing hair. "I love you." You hear him hum, and looking down at him you see he's closed his eyes again, soaking in those three words, the atmosphere and the love that radiates off each others bodies. The quiet lingering between you two was something neither of you got tired of. These moments where time feels like it stays still and it's just you two holding on to each other with gentleness brought you to a peace.

There was no more anticipating the next day, the future...because everything was real and you were both free; to be, to live.

-

AO3 LINK:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094810

[verobatto]

It Was You. Only You.

Destiel Fix It Fic post Seasons 15 ending.

Chapter 3 is Up!

Chapter 3: "The Mission Comes First."

Read it in AO3!

Summary:

After defeating Chuck and the raising of Jack as the new God, Dean wakes up from a revealing. dream. Nothing will stop him now from rescue CAS from the Empty.

But a new defiance is looming over TFW2.0.

Will Dean be able to use his words this time? Or is gonna be work a big impediment again?

Excerpt under the cut

Castiel dropped his gaze to the ground, thoughtfully, "But, I remember… a bright light…"

Jack grin was wide now, "Because then you came, you, the angel with a crack in his chasis."

Their eyes met, how could Jack know…?

"You woke me up the first time," Cas pointed at him, but he was doubting it.

Jack shook his head slightly, "No I didn't. It was Dean."

Castiel flinched, "How? Dean doesn't have powers…?"

////////

Tagging: @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @michyribeiro @lapsus-story @casualpandabeliever @a-bit-of-influence @trashblackrainbow @bluebell-24 @ashleyzander @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @destiel-shipper-11 @love-neve-dies @sunshineandwings86 @staycejo1 @justmeand-myinsight @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @shippsblog @spnsmile @mrsaquaman187 @all-or-nothing-baby @espejonight28738 @missjenniferb @legendary-destiel @ballistamoon @theshipinspector

[namjoonknee]

It had been mere months since their final confrontation with Chuck, but in that time, everything had seemingly wound down. There was a finality about it, a change in the wind, that they had all felt. In the months since, for example, Castiel had been assigned the role of designated driver more and more, as Dean had given up any pretence of pride, allowing himself to be lolled to sleep sitting in shotgun. When he did take Baby out for a drive, Dean started singing again, wild and obnoxious and carefree. All the tension assuaged away, shoulders dropped, and pace slowed and most importantly, Castiel had seen far more smiles from the man in the past year than he had in the many years prior.

This was something else though. Castiel was acutely aware of the childhood that Dean had experienced, or lack thereof. It was safe to assume, then, that the idea of a birthday celebration let alone acknowledgement, must have been as obviously absent in Dean’s life as his father had been. Which is why, when Jack had brought the idea to him and Sam, they immediately assented. If there were any people who so desperately deserved recognition and honouring, it was the Winchester brothers.

Despite Dean insisting loudly and frequently that he didn’t want his birthday to be a ‘big deal’, his eager reception to any birthday related events violently indicated the contrary. Much of Dean was like this, and it seemed that everyone in his life was well aware of the façade, so it usually worked out fine. it had only a few months for Castiel to understand this about the man after all.

On the morning of the 24th of January Castiel had found Dean arisen early, sitting in the kitchen and smiling at his phone, aftereffects of facetiming Garth and the Fitzgerald IV’s. Jody had popped in later that morning, and whilst she could only stay for an hour, having a sheriff conference to attend, it was obvious that the effort was not lost on Dean. His giddiness was also particularly apparent when he received calls from both Krissy and Claire. None of the ‘old-man’ insults thrown his way weren’t contested at all, as Dean was apparently too wrapped up in his astonishment that they had even remembered his birthday.

His cheerful disposition persisted throughout the day, and Castiel soaked it up. Staring intently at Dean (more so than usual), Castiel tried to commit his smiles to memory, persisting even when Dean had laughingly told him to ‘quit it dude, you’re freaking me out’.

This was something that Castiel hadn’t even thought to pray for, most of that was spent on just making sure the man was breathing, safe and for once not in mortal peril. Seeing Dean beam was a sucker punch to Castiel’s heart. He had been in love with Dean for so long but seeing him this happy was overwhelming. Castiel had no doubt that he had fallen, he couldn’t imagine being able to deal with the extent of his feelings a hundred years ago, let alone a millennium. He really wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. Honestly, Castiel was having a hard time keeping it together, as it were. Being an angel of the lord for longer than the existence of the Earth gave him good practise though. So, if Castiel was completely overcome with adoration, no one was the wiser.

In any case, the birthday festivities had gone wonderfully. Most of the appropriate customs had been observed, at least in Winchester fashion, which meant the substitution of cake with pie and singing with Dean’s threat that ‘if anyone so much as starts singing you won’t get any pie, got it’.

The roast dinner Jody had brought over in the morning, warmed from the oven, was sprawled out on the map room table and passed around amongst the group. Jack had bought Dean a cowboy hat keychain, which he promptly added to Baby’s keys, after pulling a delighted Jack in for a hug and ruffling his hair. Sam got the same treatment, expressing much less appreciation for it, when he slid Kurt Vonnegut’s Palm Sunday across the table towards Dean. Minutes later Dean was barking a laugh and professed his love for Eileen as he swept her up. She had produced a smuggled bottle of Midleton Very Rare, which they wasted no time pouring it out and pairing with Castiel’s cherry pie, the best pie in the country he had found. His week-long pilgrimage had been under the guise of ‘angel crap’. Thankfully, the mission was aided by his recent reacquisition of his grace, but it would have been worth it regardless, Castiel thought, as watching Dean scarf it down. When Dean emerged with whipped cream on the tip of his nose Castiel feel like it might have actually been his birthday instead.

Presently, they had just finished watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the third in the marathon of cowboy movies that Dean had prepared, seemingly oblivious to the pointed albeit good natured eye roll from Sam and the bemused glances shared between Jack, Eileen and himself.

“Alright, I think I’m going to head in” Sam yawned and rose slowly.

Eileen followed suit, signing “Hope you enjoyed your birthday” to Dean who smiled softly at her and signed “thank you” back.

Castiel turned to regard the boy pressed to his side, but the steadily rise and fall of Jack’s chest and a trail of drool on the arm rest answered his question. Castiel reached over to tap Dean’s shoulder and jerked his head towards the sleeping boy. “I’ll take him up to his room” he spoke in a low voice, “when I come back, we can watch Tombstone if you’d like.”

Surely, I can count on him not being tired yet, Castiel thought, his entire plan had depended on it, on them being alone. He had waited weeks for Dean’s birthday to arrive, the timing was finally right, and Castiel had to make his move now.

Dean grinned broadly, “I’ll set it up.”

Castiel gathered Jack up and carried his son in-all-but-blood to his room. After tucking him in, Castiel made a pitstop in his own room. Reaching into his bedside drawer, Castiel retrieved the object that he’d been mulling over for weeks on end. The package was small and neatly wrapped in glossy paper. Castiel turned it over, weighing it in his palms. He had been restless for so long and yet, Castiel suddenly found himself unable to move. This is ridiculous, he thought, I am one of heaven’s fiercest warriors, I’ve averted apocalypses, faced gods and monsters alike and triumphed, I should not be scared of giving my friend a gift for his birthday. Taking a deep breath, Castiel made an attempt at summoning courage.

“Hey Cas, did you change your mind about Tombstone? I mean I know it’s not your favourite, but I’m telling you it’s not just guns and tuberculosis-”

“Dean!” Castiel jumped in alarm and juggled the present in his arms, in attempt to prevent the imminent destruction of his hopes and dreams. Composing himself, he turned to face his friend, who was stood in the open doorway.

“Hey buddy” Dean said slowly, taking in the scene with an amused smirk, “whatcha got there?”

It took a moment for Castiel’s thoughts to catch up with him and he realised, flushing, that there was nothing subtle about the way he had reacted and was continuing to react, his arms having forced themselves behind his back. Yeah, definitely the picture of an innocent man. Castiel scolded himself for his childishness, brought his hands back to his sides and sat himself down on the edge of his bed.

Dean planted himself down next to Castiel and looked at him expectantly.
“Here” Castiel said, not trusting himself to speak he thrust the package into Dean’s hands, hoping, no, praying that Dean would understand.

Castiel stared at the package in Dean’s hands and watched as Dean examined it. In his periphery he saw Dean stare back up at him in apparent curiosity. Okay, that’s fine, Castiel thought, this is absolutely fine. Upon realising that Castiel was not prepared to give him either a reaction or explanation, Dean returned his attention to the gift and began unwrapping it. Dean pried it open deftly but carefully ensuring that the packaging was not ripped. After what seemed to Castiel as an eternity, Dean unveiled the gift and Cas raised his face in time to watch the widening of Dean’s eyes and realisation dawning across his own face.

“Cas’ Top 13 Zepp Traxx” Dean read faintly and matched his gaze.

“It’s a sequel,” Castiel started, looking back down at his palms, “of sorts. The mixtape you gave me was so thoughtful, Dean. And so, I just-” he was cut off by a pair of strong arms pulling him in. Castiel let go of the breath he didn’t realise he was holding and folded his arms around Dean, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“Thanks Cas” Dean whispered.

“Happy Birthday Dean.”

.........................

There’s more to this story x

[birthday-blue]

hes got memory problems :((

[the-real-anywolf]

Pride Month | Or the Journey of Dean Winchester Finding Pride

Title: Pride Month | Or the Journey of Dean Winchester Finding Pride

Authors: anyrei | @anyreiart and queerwerewolf | @queerwolfsstuff​

Cover art: anyrei | @anyreiart​

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: None

Content/Trigger Warning(s): Internalized Homophobia

Tags: Tags Will Be Added, Canon Compliant, Post Canon, Season 15 Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn/Slow Build, Romance, Comedy, Eventual Explicit Content, Undercover Couple Trope, Other Fun Tropes, Pride Month, Pride Month Prompts, Destiel Pride Month 2020

Word Count: ~TBD (*Daily WIP*)

Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean Winchester

Summary:

A series of post canon vignettes that explore Dean Winchester’s journey down a road to self-discovery, self-love, and learning how to find pride in who he is and who he loves. 

This is a Pride Month daily fic challenge with a Destiel twist!

[jadedragoness]

Post SPN 15x20 finale

I’m flattened into a puddle of tears and feels.

Brain: You know that there is only one thing to do.

Me: ...don’t... it’s too soon...

Brain: *puts on SPN season 1 disc 1 on the player* Shh... just watch.

Me: You are evil.

Brain: *hits the play button*

[satan-chillin]

The Fine Line Between Fate and Destiny

Summary: Billie pays Rowena a visit in the middle of the night. SamWena, post-season 15

Also available in Ao3 & FF.net

Rowena wakes in the middle of a quiet night, and that in itself is odd. 

She isn’t worried, however, seeing as Sam remains deeply asleep; if there are any signs of imminent danger, he’ll be the first to be woken up by his instincts, bred from hunting for years, subconsciously kicking in.

There’s almost a dreamlike-haze when Rowena slips from under the covers and away from Sam’s arms, walking towards the balcony as if she’s being beckoned by a force.

It finally makes sense when she sees who’s waiting for her. 

“Billie,” Rowena says, quiet and soft. 

“Rowena,” Billie says with a little quirk of her lips. “Am I interrupting?” she asks, though it’s not like she’ll care if she does. 

“My beauty sleep, yes,” Rowena says in an attempt to sound casual. She tries to temper down her curiosity at the slim black book Billie carries, and at the same time, she tries to fight down the anxiety in her presence. “Why are you here?”

Death, after all, is not the type to drop by for social visits.

“I’ll make this quick.” Billie hands her the same book, and Rowena dares not to open it. “For you. Consider it a payment for my debt. You played a significant role with the Winchesters and Jack.”  

Rowena barely hears the words when it dawns on her what the book is. 

She heard of it from Dean, about Death’s Reading Room, about the books that listed his possible deaths. And here Billie is, bringing Rowena one of hers. 

“So we can’t change it in the end,” Rowena says, a cruel twist setting in her stomach. “Sam thought he did,” she whispers. 

Billie remains unfazed as she stares down at Rowena. “Read it,” she commands. “You’ll need my assistance if you’re to do this right.”

What if I don’t want to? She wants to ask, despite thinking that it’s a great honor to be personally fetched by Death. Her nerveless fingers decide for her, already opening the book and perusing past the pages on the days of her early life. 

Rowena begins to read at the passage after keeping Chuck away for good, and by the time she’s done, tears are already falling freely down her face. 

When Sam wakes the following morning without Rowena beside him and her space on the bed cold, he sits up with a frown. 

He checks the immediate vicinity and finds no one at the balcony where she likes to drink her tea. When Sam is met with the silence of the house after checking at the kitchen downstairs, his grogginess is chased away by worry.

Rowena usually leaves a note whenever she goes out, and there’s nothing to be found now. Not even a text. 

Sam pries the front door open with bated breath and goes out.

“Good morning, Samuel,“ Rowena greets him, sitting alone at the front porch and lifting her cup. “Tea?“

Sam lets out the sigh of relief he was holding and leans down to kiss her forehead. If he lingers a little than the usual, Rowena doesn’t comment. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“I wasn’t able to sleep again,” she admits, and Sam senses that there’s more into that. “I think I’m adjusting.”

Sam doesn’t pry, and he merely nods and sidles beside her, his hand easily twining together with hers. 

It’s a fine morning, and there’s something about Rowena’s expression today that seems softer and fonder. 

Sam thinks he’s lucky to have this after everything that has happened. 

Spending time with Sam like this makes her think back of last night and what she readily gave up for more moments like this. 

Billie made the process painless compared with if Rowena was to do it on her own, and she appreciated the gesture even if it was as simple as Billie snapping her fingers. 

Rowena had lived for three centuries, and when it meant exchanging them for a couple of decades with Sam Winchester, she found that the decision was no brainer. 

Especially when that couple of decades will be composed of happier memories and a second chance in family. 

Rowena couldn’t think of a more beautiful end in her book. 

fin

[used-to-be-god]

Open RP: What if God was one of us

It was miles back to the nearest town and Dark by the time Chuck got there. The light suit jacket he had on wasn’t doing much to help against the cold night air.

He searched threw his pockets finding only lint, after all he’d never needed money when he was God so why keep it on him? He pulled his jacket a bit tighter around himself his stomach grumbling as he picked up an old paper cup and moved out to the street corner holding it out hoping that someone would help him

[agentlogancatt]

Locus/Wash Locus goes back to the abandoned query to stock up on things he needs for his aimless journey. Surprisingly ends up seeing Wash at the grocery store and does anything to avoid. Should've just left the planet that night, but ended up meeting Wash in some breakfast place.

[porcelainlu]

BenDeLaCreme and Jinkx Monsoon on The Pit Stop

Hosted by Bianca Del Rio

((if the GIFs load in at different times, this entire format gets ruined so just refresh the page or try again lol 🥲🥲✌))

[verobatto]

It Was You. Only you.

A Destiel post season 15 fix it fic!

Chapter 4 is up!

"It won't be awkward. It'll be perfect."

Read it in AO3.

Summary

After defeating Chuck and the raising of Jack as the new God, Dean wakes up from a revealing. dream. Nothing will stop him now from rescue CAS from the Empty.

But a new defiance is looming over TFW2.0.

Will Dean be able to use his words this time? Or is gonna be work a big impediment again?

Excerpt under the cut...

The air felt heavy.

"I…"

"Cas…"

They wanted to talk at the same time, both men blinked, and stared at each other in weird silence again.

//////////

My friends... Something definitely is gonna happen 😉.

Art piece by me: Tradicional Drawing. Ink pen. Color pencil. Canvas app filter.

Tagging: @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @michyribeiro @lapsus-story @casualpandabeliever @a-bit-of-influence @trashblackrainbow @bluebell-24 @ashleyzander @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @destiel-shipper-11 @love-neve-dies @sunshineandwings86 @staycejo1 @justmeand-myinsight @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @shippsblog @spnsmile @mrsaquaman187 @all-or-nothing-baby @espejonight28738 @missjenniferb @legendary-destiel @ballistamoon @theshipinspector @rosegirl1994

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

[angelsdean]

i’m gonna start gatekeeping. like i’m sorry but you can’t speak on dean if you haven’t watched the first 3 seasons. that’s dean studies 101. it’s like oh? you wanna be a dean major but you haven’t taken the intro course? no dice. you can’t get a dean studies phd without dean studies 101. it’s foundational. BUT ALSO. you want that phd but haven’t taken the senior 500 level courses ?? you ONLY took 101 and a few 200 level course? babey you barely have a dean studies bachelors degree. not even enough credits for a minor. 

[unhinged-crow]

he is in a silly goofy mood your honour

[shyjusticewarrior]