#sam's tears and dean's despair and the way they bare these to each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dyed-red · 2 years ago

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(1/2) May I please vent for a moment? I have a lot of very Sam feels lately, and I never really see much about this so maybe my POV is skewed. I rewatched the episode Unity (15.17), One of the points in the episode is that if Jack kills Chuck right then, everyone who has died and been brought back to life will be dead again. Dean says he doesn't care, let them all die. Sam asks "Even me?" and Dean doesn't answer, just repeats that Chuck must die. To me this is one of the most heartbreaking

2/2) scenes because we have 15 years of Dean doing anything to save Sam, even when Sam didn't want to be saved, and now when Sam has is good with their relationship and their definition of family and how they live their lives is when Dean doesn't care? Maybe it's just me but the look on Sam's face at that moment was absolutely devastated. Dean, now is when you don't put your brother and your relationship before everything??? Is it just me? OK, it's just me. Sorry for the long rant.

Oh darling you are always welcome to vent for any moments, especially with feels.

First off, that scene is fucking incredible. There is SO MUCH emotion in it. Devastating. And it's a sign of how good it is and how much emotion they brought to it that it has affected you so deeply, so bear that in mind.

But, because I abso-fucking-lutely love that scene and you gave me a perfect opportunity to geek out in way too much detail about it, let's take an extended look.

Dean is so angry. He hates Chuck. Hates him like he's hated possibly no one ever. I'm not sure he hates Lucifer as much as he hates Chuck, and that is truly saying something.

In the case of Lucifer, of literally anyone and anything else, even universe-ending threats like Amara, the priority was saving people, not killing the monster. Whatever was necessary, but not no matter the cost. The cost was born to save as many as could be (and later, to keep Sam as safe as could be). The ultimate was not death in and of itself, the point was salvation.

That's no longer the case here. The point is killing Chuck. Literally no matter the collateral damage, no matter the cost. This is a new level of desperation that we've never seen from Dean before, a new level of hatred.

(And it's coming from a place of intense powerlessness and violation, but more on that in a sec).

And right after Dean lays bare how truly deep that hatred runs, Sam asks that incredible, devastating, shocking line in response:

And Dean may not immediately have words at the ready, but his expression isn't a dismissal. He looks shocked that Sam could even ask, mouth forms an attempt at a scoff or denial or - or something. Something that, to me, clearly communicates 'no'. He looks hurt by Sam's question (which is important for contextualizing his next lines).

But interestingly enough, the scene cuts from there to Chuck and Amara, and the next spoken word is "Balance."

Chuck and Amara are siblings, and there is a parallel and foil happening between them versus Sam and Dean here, as there has been all season. Chuck absorbs Amara and subjugates her. He is still his toxic self, who wants all of the control and all of the power and is willing to destroy his sister, the only being in the entire universe who could be his equal, the only being in the entire multiverse and all creation who might be able to truly understand him.

And for what? Extra power? Maybe.

But maybe that's just what abusive people do -- they tear down your walls and take all of you, whatever they can get, and use and unmake you and destroy you, if given the opportunity. They remake you into their image, into what they want from you, so that you aren't allowed to exist with your own wants separate to what they want, and what they want for you.

That's what Chuck has just done with/to Amara. And there is no "balance" (no equality) to it.

Then we jump right back to Sam and Dean.

And I think you're reading that first line of Dean's as dismissing what Sam has just asked. Sam says "what about me?" and you said that Dean doesn't answer. And you're right, to a point, because hurt expression notwithstanding, he doesn't outright reply to Sam's explicit question.

But I'm not sure that that means he doesn't answer. Because you're also correct that Dean repeats, hurtles onward that Chuck has to die, that this has to happen. But I don't personally read it as a dismissal, and I do read it as Dean answering Sam's question, but maybe not in the way you think.

I read it as Dean protesting. I read it as him begging.

So let's go back over his reply one more time, with a close, if forgiving, reading:

Chuck has to die.

Dean's sentence is declarative, a statement of fact. It is necessary for Chuck to die. This is a need, a requirement.

He has to!

With the exclamation, the rise in his voice, and the repetition of the sentiment of the previous sentence (has to die), the declarative becomes more emotionally charged. It's not just that it is necessary for Chuck to die, it is necessary to Dean that Chuck die.

The emotion and repetition also make it clear, unlike a declarative, that this is not a certainty. "Earl had to die" is a calm declarative, a statement of necessity. Dean's emotional and repeated delivery moves this away from a statement, away from an agreed-upon certainty, and into something else. So what is it then, and where does he go next?

Otherwise he'll keep us tap dancing forever

Here, on the surface, Dean is providing reasons to back up his point that Chuck has to die. He's providing a counterfactual argument, what will happen if they don't kill Chuck, which is that they will never be free.

Looking deeper, Dean has shifted from the statement of Chuck's death as a necessity to a direct acknowledgement here that his death is not a certainty, by providing the "otherwise" case that acknowledges the potential for Chuck's continued survival.

Dean is also shifting the language over to 'us'. He's bringing Sam into this counterfactual argument. In doing so, it becomes clear that he is attempting to reason with Sam, to appeal to the consequences to Sam and to something that Sam (in Dean's eyes, at least, or else framing this argument this way would be pointless) should care about too.

and I can't live like that, man! I can't live like that!

Dean's words are now belying his desperation here. Not only has he acknowledged the possibility of Chuck not dying and the rational consequence he sees from that, but he is acknowledging the emotional consequence that will have for him, personally. This is something he cannot do. In repeating it, yelling it, he makes it a hard line of his. It is an impossibility, not an option. This is not tenable, to continue to live under Chuck, and for that reason, Chuck must die.

His logic has been laid out, now. He is asking Sam to join him in fighting Chuck, whose death Dean believes is necessary in order for them both (us) to live in an acceptable manner, otherwise he (Dean) cannot continue to live at all.

I won't!

Except, finally, acknowledgment that even that, even Dean's inability to live under Chuck, is not a material reality. Not a statement of cannot/is not, but rather it's a personal imperative. Won't, not can't. I choose not to. I refuse.

This couches his preceding sentences his a new light. This is his personal refusal, his personal feelings. Not a cold and rational reality or something which cannot be. It's not a foregone statement or necessity that Chuck die, it's Dean's need. His request.

And in the grander scheme of the emotion, the counterfactual of what it would mean to live under Chuck, the repeated necessity (repeated uncertainty) of Chuck dying, it lays bare that this is a plea. That Dean is begging his brother to join him in this. To stand by his side so that it is not trading Sam versus Chuck, but him and Sam standing together against Chuck and everything else in existence.

So, I read it as an implicit reply to Sam's question. "No, I would not trade you. Instead I'm demanding, no I am begging, that you stand by me so that we together can trade the rest of them. Because I refuse to live in this type of pain, and I hope this pain, these horrible consequences, are enough argument to convince you to join me."

Let's go back to that Chuck and Amara scene for a sec.

Their scene and Sam and Dean's are interspersed and keep cutting back and forth. Chuck is convincing Amara to carry out his plan, using words instead of violence, but doing so in a way that is manipulative, and for a decidedly selfish end. He wants to control and subsume her. That's the toxic and abusive outcome, with Chuck completely dominating and destroying his sister. His means aren't violent, but his desired ends absolutely are.

Meaning, the stand-off between Sam and Dean starts with violence. Dean, in his own right mind and not possessed or demonic or under any external influence, pulls a gun on Sam.

Sam is horrified, devastated. He immediately realizes the severity of how extreme this must be, for Dean to do this, something he's never done before, something that is in so many ways completely antithetical to who Dean is.

There is an altercation. Sam knocks the gun aside. Dean punches Sam. Dean's means are violent. The older brother, trying to convince and control his younger sibling to carry out his plan.

But Sam fights back.

Sam tells, demands that Dean listen. They argue.

THEY ARGUE.

Sam is not Amara. Rather than let himself be subsumed, he meets his brother where he is at, with violence, and holds him back. He meets Dean as an equal. And he outright demands with his body and with his words that Dean listen to him.

And Dean is not Chuck. Rather than wanting to control, subsume, or destroy Sam, Dean loves Sam as an equal. He loves Sam, period. His means are violent, but his ends, at least where Sam is concerned, are not, and have never been.

So when Sam demands Dean listen, Dean does. And that's when Dean begins to protest and plead.

But Sam continues to stand firm on his side, on what he knows is right. On what he learned from watching Dean -- about choices, about autonomy, about hope.

From the moment that Sam reminds Dean that they always have a choice, Dean has lost. The argument is over, and where Chuck and Amara have turned into something monstrous through their toxic consumption of one another, Sam and Dean have chosen a different path.

To be honest, Dean starts to lose even possibly before Sam reminds him of choices (of free will, the longest-standing theme of the entire show). It begins from the moment Dean turns his attention from urging Cas and Jack onward to acknowledging what Sam is saying, even if only to argue with it. The rest of it is his slow and aggrieved, desperate surrender. His pleas to Sam. Sam's pleas in return to him, which Dean allows (foregone by this point) to win him over.

From the moment Dean let Sam knock the gun aside, the rest of it is just the five stages of grief.

Denial: we don't have a choice. there's nothing else we can do.

Bargaining: I'd trade it all.

Anger: chuck has to die. he has to.

Depression: i can't live like that.

Acceptance:

So... while a dizzying and almost-ruinous moment that we get from Dean, I do have to disagree, nonnie. I don't think think that this moment is showing us that Dean doesn't care. I think it's showing us that he cares so much.

So much that he already knew he lost. That he was desperate and grieving and sad and doomed, so incredibly doomed, so that when Sam said "what about me?" Dean's reply wasn't a dismissal -- it was him begging his brother to understand, to sit with grace in the depth of Dean's despair. To join him.

And instead of letting Dean drag him into the same place of hopelessness, of helplessness, Sam does what they have always done for each other. He reaches his hand into the muck and grabs Dean's from where it is buried under so many layers of hurt, and he pulls him up again. He keeps his brother human.

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blessyourhondahurley · 2 years ago

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No Good Deed Unpunished

Sam decides to help Dean and Cas get their heads out of their asses. He pays the price.

Suptober prompt: Digital Flufftober prompt: Thick as Thieves Fictober prompt: “That was not my intention.” Inktober prompt: Bat

(Read on AO3)

“Perhaps you could just... Put it in some rice for a few days? I've seen on the internet where that can repair damaged electronics.” Cas was clearly contrite, and Sam appreciated his attempt to help, but...

“No amount of rice is going to fix this thing,” Sam lamented as he watched his iPad leak fat drops of cheap red wine onto the floor.

~~~~~

It was a simple plan, a good plan. Fed up with watching his brother and his brother's angel bat their eyes at each other, the UST so thick that it was hard to breathe sometimes, Sam had pulled Cas aside one afternoon and laid it all out:

“Look, man, you love Dean and Dean loves you. Neither of you has got the balls to make the first move, and I'm tired of waiting for that to change. How can we make this happen?”

It took most of an hour to argue Cas out of his self-loathing, self-effacing, self-denying mindset and bring him around to Sam's point of view. They spent the next hour hashing out increasingly elaborate and impractical plans to drag Dean onto the same page. Eventually, Sam had had enough.

“Okay, whoa, time out, time out. We're thinking about this all wrong. Let's keep it simple. We'll go with the classics.”

They'd sent Dean out with a list of petty errands that they claimed were urgent. While he was out, the two of them had hit the storerooms, digging up a linen tablecloth, a set of nice china, and some silver candlesticks. Sam had laid everything out on the library table, and downloaded a playlist of classic rock love songs onto his iPad for ambience. Meanwhile, Cas had run out for Dean's favorite burgers and a pie from the bakery downtown. On a romantic whim, he'd picked up a bottle of wine to accompany. They'd barely gotten everything set up when they'd heard the distinctive growl of the Impala pulling into the garage. Sam had made himself scarce, leaving Cas and Dean to their intimate meal, hopefully with a side of mutual confession and making out.

It was a good plan, and it had worked, as far as he could tell. Surveying Cas's well-tousled hair and rumpled shirt, and the fresh love bites on Dean's neck, he'd say the plan had worked. But there was collateral damage. Several pieces of the china had fallen (or been knocked) off the table and shattered. The tablecloth was rumpled, and soaked with a massive puddle of red wine. Smack in the center of the puddle, his poor iPad was on its way to digital Doggy Heaven.

Sam's emotions were a welter. Pride for his successful scheming warred with elation for his brother clashed with despair for his ruined tablet. Cas looked to be in a similar state. His cheeks were flushed from the wine and the euphoria of a love newly (and finally) requited, but his eyes welled with regretful tears.

“I am so sorry for the damage, Sam,” he said, wringing his hands, apologetic. “You must know that was not my intention. You were so helpful in setting this up for us, and to repay you in this manner...”

“Wait a minute,” Dean interjected. “You helped him set this up? This is why the two of you were thick as thieves all afternoon? Did– Sam, did you put him up to this?”

Dean's expression rapidly morphed from love-drunk to played. Sam started to panic, stunned and angry that this could all still go off the rails if Dean's self-doubt had its way.

“Dean, no, we–” he began, desperately hoping to head off his brother's impending doom spiral.

Cas got there first.

“Beloved,” he murmured, putting a hand on Dean's cheek. “Sam did help me to understand that this was possible, and assist me in setting up this meal, but my love for you is no one's idea but my own. Perhaps we could go to our room and... discuss this more deeply?"

At that, Dean calmed. He grinned. He grabbed Cas's free hand and tugged, growling “Our room, sunshine? I like the sound of that. Yeah, let's have a deep discussion.”

As his brother dragged his angel down the hall, he turned to call over his shoulder, “We'll buy you a new iPad, Sammy. Just... Tomorrow. Or maybe the day after, I dunno. Hey, you still got those noise-canceling headphones?”

Sam sighed and dashed down the hall. He needed to find those headphones immediately.

#suptober22 #flufftober2022 #fictober22 #destiel #destiel fluff #day 03 #supernatural

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katsidhe · 3 years ago

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Top 5 season 13 Sam moments?

You say top five, I hear top as many as I feel like <3

8. 13.01- Sam and Jack in jail together. This is the first moment that they have to talk to each other in earnest--Sam is OBVIOUSLY scared, and he goes into full diplomacy mode. But his tentative overtures to try to make Jack calm down and make sure he isn’t their active enemy quickly turn into something more: something protective, something fond. Sam takes Jack under his wing so quickly.

7. 13.03- Sam and Dean’s argument about Jack at the end of this episode. It’s a rare example of a late-series confrontation that Sam initiates, and it establishes such a juicy pattern in the Sam-Dean-Jack dynamic. Sam tries to convince Dean that Jack deserves to be treated well (”saved”); Dean disagrees; Sam, without any apparent sense of irony, tries to parallel himself to Jack to change Dean’s mind; Dean seems affected, but his mind does not change. In the context of how Sam is an apologist for Dean’s treatment of Jack nearly every time he’s talking to Jack one-on-one, it’s especially compelling.

6. 13.18- Sam and Gabriel’s weird, weird little interlude together! It’s so off-the-wall and strange and fascinating: Sam using Gabriel and helping him recover; Gabriel using Sam and choosing to help him of his own volition. Add another to the list of fantastic character interactions Sam gets in s13, and pour one out for the cornucopia of Sam-Lucifer-Gabriel discussions that were never had.

5. 13.22- Sam and Dean’s brief conversation when Sam stumbles into camp. The legitimate pathos! The way Sam immediately apologizes! How he seems on the verge of tears! How determined Sam is to claw his way into a plan to get rid of Lucifer once and for all. The bloodstains! Is nice.

4. 13.11- The short scene at the beginning of this episode where Sam’s finding it so hard to get out of bed. Just. man. That hit me right in the gut. Usually Sam’s breakdown modes tend to be more manic--he searches for distractions, he goes head-on at the problem, he goes a little bit wild. So seeing him so low on energy, so despairing, wanting to give up on this case, is so emotional.

3. 13.12- Sam and Rowena trauma conversation my beloved. The way Sam opens up to her, and the way she opens up to Sam, is absolutely stunning. This is still the most Sam’s ever said about Lucifer to another person, and it’s barely anything. It’s a moment notable not for the gravity of what’s revealed, but for the weight of years of silence behind and before it.

2. 13.23- Sam and Lucifer and Jack, in a church, having a totally reasonable and civil and not unhinged custody battle. Sam grabbing Lucifer just so that Jack won’t be left alone with him; Sam and Jack both ready to die for each other; “I love you”; Lucifer being SO fucking done with Sam’s nonsense. <3 everything about this setup is absolutely iconic.

1. hmm yknow I really liked that moment in scoobynatural when—lmao could you imagine me making a s13 list without including 13.21???? Number One is 13.21, of COURSE it’s 13.21; this was literally never in question.

“Why?” is, as we all know, the best line in the entirety of Supernatural. This image made me nonfunctional for a solid week in 2018.

#sam and dean #sam and gabriel #sam and jack #sam and lucifer #sam and rowena #13.01 #13.03 #13.11 #13.12 #13.18 #13.21 #13.22 #13.23 #this is a 13.21 appreciation blog #ask game

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years ago

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Heart in My Hand (15x18 “Despair” coda, Dean-centric, Destiel. post-that scene)

(ao3 link)

He was right there.

Cas was telling Dean everything he ever wanted to hear since meeting the angel of the Lord... only each and every word of his confession stabbed at Dean's heart. Because once he finished, there's no more time for them. For him. For any chance of happiness - all that taken away by the Empty. And now he has to carry on.

He tries. Stands, gets in his car and drives where Sam tells him. When he meets with the others, though...

Dean spots them easily, only two people left on the planet besides himself. Standing in the middle of the street, waiting. He rolls to a stop near some crashed truck and an abandoned bag of groceries that spills out the top. Egg yolks oozing into a small puddle, mixing with freely leaking juice burning bright against dark asphalt. Visible even from where he sits inside his car.

With Sam and Jack advancing, Dean crams the rest of his emotions down. Puts on a brave face. What he sees in his rearview isn’t anything like that. Trembling lips. Red, blotchy skin. Wide eyes that look more haunted than an average, Midwestern home. It’s better than how he appeared earlier. And since they’re already here, he must move on. Steeling himself, he exits his car.

“Dean,” Jack starts, glancing from him to his empty car, “Where’s Cas?”

Dean fails, again. “Cas…” He croaks, words blocked by the boulder that wedged into his throat once that black portal of despair vanished. Water traces familiar pathways down his cheeks, Dean steadying himself on his open door. Hisses panicked breaths through clenched teeth. “Cas, he…”

“Oh.” Sam stumbles backwards, news dealing its own damage. Jack stares at Dean, jaw hanging limply. Gaze wet from threatening tears. “Was it…” his brother coughs, regaining his footing, ��was it Billie?”

He shakes his head, still not ready to speak. Voice abandoning him like… well.

“Chuck?” Jack asks, inching closer. “Did Chuck make him crumble, too?”

Dean nearly forgot. Chuck… if only. His anger would have a target, instead of hanging around him as if it were a fog. Miasma thick he cannot see past a never-ending reel of those few, long minutes. Cas’s parting message replaying ad nauseum. “No,” he manages, staring at Baby’s roof. “No, he – he sacrificed… to take out… to save…” Gasping, Dean lolls his head upwards. Staring up at an empty sky, sending what’s left of his sentence into the heavens.

Someone approaches, lays a hand on his elbow. There because it hovered over Dean’s shoulder and chose a different path. Dean felt how close it came to fitting over his angel’s mark. Heard a sharp intake of breath after they noticed it, confirming Dean’s suspicion. “Dean,” Sam says – of course it’d be him. He recognizes his little brother’s voice. Especially when he forces confidence through his tone. It lacks, however, as an undercurrent of worry threaded through it. “Dean,” he continues, “what happened?”

First, he searches for Jack. The younger boy leans across from Dean, waiting. Curious. Heartbroken. “He,” Dean whispers, knees buckling under him, “Billie was out for blood and – and we couldn’t stop her on our own. So Cas, he…” Sam’s grip tightens on his elbow, adds another supportive touch to Dean’s armpit. Keeps him standing. Dean thanks Sam by letting his hands stay. “We were dead to rights. So Cas… let himself be happy.”

Jack’s muttered curse resolves a lingering question, whether he knew. Doubly confirmed since Jack draws further attention to himself, slamming his fist on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t raise his usual objections. “The Empty,” he says.

“The Empty?” Sam glances between Jack and Dean, “What would… why would the Empty be there? When Cas is happy – what are you talking about?”

“A deal Sammy,” Dean says. Louder, rougher. Shattering the eerie silence of this deserted city scape. “He made a deal with that damned thing, his life for… for…”

“For mine.” Jack tilts his head, brows drawn in such a mirror of his father Dean nearly collapses where he stood. He remains strong. “When I was in Heaven, after I… I died, the first time.” Sighing, he stretches towards them. Extending an empty palm in a gesture of regret. “I’m… I’m so sorry –“

“No.” Dean slides his own hand, taking Jack’s. Squeezes it. Grounding himself further. “I don’t… it’s not your fault. Cas made the deal. He – he’s made his choice. It’s… if he had the chance to go back, he’d still do it. Again and again. That’s who he is.” Dean hiccups, face cracking as his mouth stretches wide, gracing the others with a rueful smile. “Putting everyone’s needs before himself even if it… even if it meant he could never…” He shudders, Cas’s peaceful expression when the Empty struck frozen in his mind. “Too good, Cas was – he was too good –“

“Dean, Dean!” Sam tore Dean away from Jack and Baby, carrying him off to sit on the sidewalk’s curb. Bent him, head between knees, helping him work past growing hysterics. Jack followed them, hovering. Shadow blocking the sun from shining above, casting him in darkness. Thinking this makes Dean spiral further. “Breathe Dean, just breathe.”

It’s stupid. Dean wastes valuable time, their world crumbling all around them. And what is he doing? Crying. Making Sam and Jack comfort him because Dean lost the shovel he usually buries his feelings with. Empty probably taking that, too. It’s stupid. Maddening. Also, completely unavoidable.

Dean wondered if, one day, he might shatter so completely gathering those pieces might prove impossible. He has his answer, at the worst possible moment.

Soon he calms, and Dean can lift his head without flashing back there.

“Dean…” Sam starts, cautiously. Treating Dean too carefully given how far into this war they’re in. “Dean, Cas’s deal… the Empty wanted him happy?” Nodding, Dean waits for the next question. Dreading it. “What… what did he do?”

Sam hadn’t broken down, when they found Eileen’s duffel – and her phone. Recovered best he could and shouldered his pain. Allowed those seconds of grief, then used it as fuel. Whereas Dean drags his suffering into eternity. Mourns his best friend, and their lost potential. A stolen future. Years spent in denial. If he’d taken a chance earlier… at some point. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “he let himself… he confessed…” Explaining it was too difficult, but Sam needed to know. Jack, too. “He loved me, Sam.” Laughing, Dean wipes at his eyes. “He loved me, after all I – he still… he loved me, and that killed him.” Whispering, he repeats, “He loved me.”

Sam’s features shifted, journeying from shock to a pitying understanding. Rubs comfortingly at his back, sighing. “Loving you was what made him happiest?”

“Yeah… it was, it was so simple…” Dean uncurls, teetering, flirting with the idea of lying on his back. He and Jack trade a fleeting glance, Dean checking his reaction. Not surprised in the slightest. Kid’s too damned insightful. “Just admitting it was enough and… and you know what he said? He said he… Cas believed it was something he could never have?” His chest tightens, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t… how could that be – how could loving me be, I’m… how can I be Cas’s happiness? Out of all he could have had, and what he wanted was me – what I… what I thought I could never have.”

“Don’t say that Dean,” Sam admonishes, “you are worthy of having love.”

Shrugging, Dean turns from his and Jack’s heavy stares. Looks at the pooling egg yolk again; focuses on that spreading mess. “Cas said about as much, before the Empty… had this whole speech that I – it felt like I was being peeled away. Called me out for… it all feels so meaningless. Is that what it felt like, with Eileen? Being with someone who can see through you and make all this big stuff seem – well, seem not so big anymore?” Sam agrees, as much. “There we were Billie hot on our heels. Waiting for death, and he spits out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I almost forgot what was going on. It was just him and me… him seeing – seeing me. And you know what I did? Not a goddamn thing…”

“Dean…”

“I could barely speak, I – I was so scared,” Dean admits, “if you’d’ve been there Sam, the look of – look of finality that was there, alongside the love, and peace, and happiness. I always wanted to hear him say that, couldn’t predict him saying all of that… I would’ve traded it if it meant he’d stay. And I can – I get to have him in the only way we could. But he made up his mind, like with Jack. Took Billie down, and him, too. Leaving me there – alone – that it… when I finally said it back, I was too late.”

They echoed. Hung in the air. Mingled with Cas’s blood on his sleeve and the fresh tears pouring out of him. Shook Dean down to the very core of his being, barely hearing it past the low pitch of static filling his ears. Dean thought those words innumerably before, imagined different scenarios, played pretend in the comfort of his room where no one can see.

No one ever will, now.

“I…” Dean tries saying his truth. It doesn’t want to come out. He continues regardless, “I miss him, Sam. Why do we do this? Hurt everyone we’ve ever cared about? Hell, the whole world’s collateral damage because of us!” Exhausted, Dean gives in. Falls fully off the cliff, lying on the sidewalk. Arms spread beside him while he watches endless blue.

Sam squeezes his knee, “I miss her too. I miss them all.” He stands, adding another shadow. Jack’s advancing, too. Blanketing Dean in a strange temperature. Not cold, still there’s an absence of warmth he notes. “But it’s not on us. It’s Chuck. Always has been…”

“Then is this it?” Dean asks, “One last play, even if it kills us? Even if it can’t bring everyone back?”

“At least we died fighting, then.”

Dean cannot argue with this. He doesn’t feel too inclined to move yet. “For them,” he says, closing his eyes. “This isn’t about us, anymore. It’s about all of them. The world… our family… Eileen and – and Cas.”

Their shadows move. He senses them leave, sunlight returning. Bringing with it more memories. Of how it felt first hearing Cas say it. A natural glow that lit from within. Snuffed in Cas’s next breath, as Billie’s fist pounded on the door, and when the bitterness of Cas’s declaration hit his tastebuds. Dean grasps for that feeling, basking under the sun. Pretends it’s Cas giving him that gorgeous, soul-shattering smile. Encouraging him into his final battle. Telling him it’ll be over soon, he’ll be done, and that he loves him.

He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

“I love you Cas.”

Dean will rise. Gather what little he, Sam, and Jack have and rush at Chuck until there truly is nothing left. Of this world. Or of them. But that’s later.

Right now, Dean dreams of his losses. Apologizes, one by one, faces blurring together as he starts counting strangers his mind saved for no purpose other than to make him carry more crosses. Never his, though.

Cas’s face shines uninterrupted, clearly, like the sun. There even as everything else fades. In the safety of his mind, where the Empty can’t steal him. In the safety of his heart, that Chuck can’t control. In his hands, wearing Cas’s blood like a badge of honor and pride.

And love.

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x18 despair #dean winchester #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn coda #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel coda #deancas coda #sam winchester #jack kline #castiel

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waywardxwords · 4 years ago

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Whole Again

Summary: When Crowley is holding your family hostage, you jump into gear to try to rescue them. You feel angry as Dean insists you need a plan before rushing in. Your feelings are overwhelming, especially when you realize why you’re feeling the way that you do. You just want to feel whole again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,821

Warnings: Violence, blood, vomiting (not too detailed), severe sadness/despair, swearing, and fluffiness (bc I don’t know any other way lol)

The engine of your 1969 Mercury Cougar roared against the asphalt as you drove down some one-lane highway in the middle of some rural town in Kansas. You pressed your foot even further on the accelerator, not minding the speed limit. You didn’t care; there wasn’t enough time.

Your eyes watched the path in front of you, bathed in the light from your headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your cell phone screen light up—the buzz from it vibrating, slightly noticeable against the vinyl seat upholstery.

Without even looking at the ID, you knew who it was. You reached for the device and slid to answer—this was the fifth time he had called. He wasn’t going to stop until you obliged. “What?” You barked into the receiver of the phone.

“Y/N, listen to me,” Dean Winchester breathed into the phone. “You have to turn around. We need a plan. You can’t just barge in there.” You could tell he was doing everything he could to remain calm and collected; must be nice, you thought to yourself. He doesn’t have a horse in this race, so of course he wants to play it safe.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Dean,” you spat back. Your eyes blurred from the angry tears that had pooled there. You blinked—hard—to will them away. Instead, they escaped through the corners of your eyes and trailed down your face. You didn’t care.

“Dammit, Y/N,” all bets were off, and Dean had returned to his angsty, gruff self. “This is a trap, and you know it.”

“Do you really think I’m that stupid? Of course, it’s a trap, Dean! But what the hell am I supposed to do?! You tell me what you would do in this situation if it were Sam,” your words dripped with bitterness, but again—you didn’t care. The emotions in you ranged from anger to annoyance to disappointment—you had trusted him, and now you felt like a fool.

“Y/N…” he trailed off.

“Exactly. You can’t tell me, because you would be doing exactly what I’m doing,” there was a fierceness behind your words that Dean hadn’t heard before. “You made your choice to stay. And you know what? That’s fine; that’s on you. I don’t even care anymore,” you tried to make your voice sound strong and sure. You wanted him to believe every word, even though you knew there was no truth to it. You did care. You cared so much it hurt physically.

“So what are you gonna do, then? Just walk in there, guns blazing? Hope you can take out a few demons before Crowley puts you out of your misery?” If he had been hurt by the words you had said, he wasn’t showing it.

You blinked against the tears a few times; the grip of your left hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m going to give him the tablet.” You pulled the phone away from your face and quickly hit ‘End’ before tossing it back on the passenger seat beside you.

-----

You weren’t sure how long it had been, exactly. You couldn’t be sure how many times you had lost consciousness at this point, but it was certainly more than once. You blinked against the darkness; your hands still secured behind your back. The ropes were still tied firmly around your ankles, making it impossible for you to budge.

Eyes closed tightly, you tried to remember what had happened—how you had gotten here. You were certain you could’ve used the tablet as leverage. Crowley would accept the tablet and in return, he would release you and your family—unharmed, back to normal.

“Ah, she’s awake,” a bright light snapped on overhead—it blinded you for a moment. You blinked against it, aggressively squinting to make out Crowley and two men in suits. Your jaw tightened as you struggled against the ropes on your wrists. Bile crept from the pit of your stomach up towards your esophagus; it burned the base of your throat. “Morning, Sunshine.”

“Where are they?” You found your voice. You were disappointed by how weak it sounded. You had been hurt—you could feel the leftover gashes in your skin. Your face felt tight, so you knew there had to be dried blood there.

Crowley looked around the warehouse as he played dumb. “Who? Mummy and Daddy? Your baby sister?” He asked coyly. You grinded your teeth, your jaw ached from the pain. It wasn’t even the physical pain. The pain in your chest as you assumed the worst about your family.

“Y/N?” You heard a soft voice come from behind you. Crowley took six steps towards you and strongly lifted your chair to turn you towards the voices. There in front of you were three different racks, of sorts. You imagined these were like the racks in Hell—the racks that Dean had described in painful detail one night when you both had gotten carried away drinking.

On the first one, your father. His arms pulled back to each corner of the rack; his legs tied in the same fashion at the bottoms of the rack—spread out like an ‘X’. His head was down, and you knew he was unconscious. Blood dripped from his head—a pool of crimson red forming below him on the concrete floor. He had wounds all over his body. You couldn’t make out what was cut versus blood from other injuries.

On the second, your mother. She seemed to be awake, but barely. Her eyes were tiny slits—squinting towards you. You swallowed past the lump in your throat as you realized she was trying to determine if you were real or just a figment of her imagination. Blood caked her hair—it had already matted in places. Her body was leaning forward, pulling her away from the rack. Your eyes were drawn to her wrists, which were being cut by the cuffs around them as gravity pulled her body forward.

And then the third rack—the rack with your baby sister. She was only two years younger than you, but you still referred to her as your baby sister. She was the one who had called your name out. She, too, was strung up just like your parents. But her core muscles allowed her to hold herself up. You could tell she was terrified—the panic made her arms move and pull at the cuffs holding her against the rack. She writhed against the metal. It made the bile bubbling like boiling acid in your stomach unavoidable. In a quick motion, you leaned to your right and your entire body heaved.

Crowley looked down at the floor, a grimace pulled over his face. And in one quick motion, his hand slapped across your face. It was such a hard slap, you were certain you had the outline of a handprint in its wake. “You dumb bitch, you yakked on my shoes!”

Your eyes glazed over; you didn’t care about the pain, or the smell of the bile. You couldn’t get past the smell of blood, and the way your sister looked at you. “Y/N,” she repeated, this time she choked out a sob. “W-What’s happening?”

Before you could speak, Crowley moved towards her. “Your sister,” he started as he paced in front of her rack. “…let’s just say she has poor decision-making skills. She had a choice,” he glanced back at you as he continued. “And she chose a Moose and a Squirrel.”

Your sister looked confused, and you didn’t blame her. You closed your eyes and dropped your head, but only for a moment. Your memories began to come back. “Crowley, I gave you the tablet! What more do you want from me?” You sounded desperate, but you couldn’t help it.

In just a few swift steps, Crowley was back in front of you. The breeze from his speed made you blink as he held onto the armrests of your chair and leaned as close to your face as possible without touching. “I WANTED THE WINCHESTERS!” He screamed.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes again. “They aren’t coming!” You screamed back. “I told you, I came here alone.”

Crowley stepped back once more and it was then that you realized he had a blade in his hand. “And that’s why we’re here, puppet. That’s why we’re all here. Mummy, Daddy, little sister…”

Your eyes were glued to him as he walked slowly—so slowly, you felt like he could almost be moving backwards. It sounded so far away as you heard your sister scream. Was he really walking that slowly, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Your sister just kept screaming over and over again—blood curdling. You realized your eyes had glazed over again and you weren’t even seeing clearly. And that was when one of Crowley’s pawns put his hands on your head and turned it towards where Crowley stood in front of your sister.

You watched. He took the blade in his hand and drove it straight into her gut—her eyes were widened in horror, her mouth agape. Blood began to slowly flood her mouth and drip down to the floor. Her body was no longer able to hold her against the rack, and she fell forward—only caught by cuffs that wrapped her wrists and ankles.

“You can thank your big sis for that,” Crowley muttered loud enough for you to hear. In a swift movement, he twisted the blade completely until her head fell forward and you knew she was gone. He pulled the blade out and with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he wiped it down. “Are we having fun yet?” He turned back to you with an evil smile spread across his lips.

Your heart pounded so hard against the wall of your chest, you were certain it would thump right out of your body. But yet you wouldn’t scream. You couldn’t move. For the first time in a long time, there were no heroes. There was no saving.

One by one, Crowley made it down the line. Putting your family out of their misery. You winced with each slice—you believed something in you to be broken, as you couldn’t get out a reaction. But then you realized your face was wet, and you thought you could hear your own voice echoing off of the concrete walls of the warehouse. Maybe you were screaming, after all.

And finally, Crowley sauntered over to you. Your eyes felt heavy—like you were tired. You summed it up to a combination of the blood loss and watching your entire family be slaughtered while you sat there, unable to move.

You closed your eyes as he stood in front of you. You waited…would there be pain? Was there really a bright light? Would a Reaper come for you?

Crowley cleared his throat in front of you, causing you to open your eyes. “Here’s the deal, love,” he looked down into your eyes. “I’m going to let you sit here and stew in your own juices. I want you to feel the pain…just watching your family’s meat suits rot. And when the Winchesters inevitably show up, you tell them Crowley would like a word.” He whispered the last part so close to your ear it made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into thin air.

And so you sat there.

Screams fell from your lips, but there was no one around to hear. Your eyes were forced to look at the bodies—this blood was on you. Your family’s blood was on you. You couldn’t save them. You could pray to Cas, but you didn’t want to. You hoped more than anything you had ever hoped for before that your blood would seep out onto the concrete floor around you, and a Reaper would come for you. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would be Tessa. She seemed pleasant…for a Reaper, anyway.

You closed your eyes. It was better than the alternative.

-------

You blinked. Once, twice…three times. Voices, you heard voices again. You had come to accept that it was your mind playing tricks on you—hallucinations, you assumed. Probably from the blood loss.

“Hey, Y/N…you hear me?” Someone was in your face. Your hallucinations were…touching you? That didn’t seem right. Then again, you had never been on the edge of death before. So you guessed it could be possible. “Sammy, she’s waking up.”

The Winchesters? You were on the brink of death and your mind decided to hallucinate the Winchesters?

Your eyes were thin slits at this point—sunken in. Your hair was matted with blood, but you felt their hands on your face, your head, your torso. Someone—Sam, you thought—had his fingers working quickly on your wrists.

“Go…away…” you muttered in between raspy breaths. You tasted blood—you weren’t sure if it was from a strand of hair that had slipped in between your lips, or if you had internal bleeding that was making its way up your throat. You didn’t care.

“Y/N, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean said as he tried to keep eye contact with you. “Cas!” He practically growled. He looked up to the ceiling—waiting.

A bright light surrounded you in the room—standing before you was Cas, trench coat and all. Your eyes lulled back again, you anticipated to pass out once more. You felt arms around your middle and your head cradled in a shoulder—you knew that shoulder. It belonged to Dean.

“Fix her…please,” you felt the rumble in his chest as the words fell from his lips. You knew you weren’t lucid, but you could have sworn you sensed a hint of begging. The Dean Winchester you knew didn’t beg.

“Don’t,” even in your haze, the word slipped between your lips.

“Y/N,” Cas approached you carefully. His eyes moved over you as he assessed the damage. “If I do not heal you, you will die.”

You remained silent. Cas looked between you and Dean. “Cas!” Dean barked once more.

Within seconds, the light was brightening around you—blinding you. You squinted against it. You willed your body to writhe away from him and fall on the nearest blade. But it was too late.

The physical pain suddenly began to fade until it was gone. No open wounds, no more seeping blood. “Her injuries are healed,” Cas explained. “But it will take some time for her blood levels to normalize.” You noticed there was still ringing in your ears, and you felt a bit dizzy. But all things considered, it could have been so much worse. But that made your heart sink.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you muttered as you shoved with all the strength you had at his chest.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his eyes closed for a second. You moved to stand but felt lightheaded. In trying to find your way back to your seat, you almost fell. Dean caught you just before you hit the ground. “Alright, Speed Demon. Take it easy.” With one arm around your back, he dipped the other behind your knees as he lifted you bridal-style. “Dean Winchester, put me down right now,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“I can throw you over my shoulder, if you want,” he smirked. The smirk…you wanted to slap it off of his face. It took everything in you not to.

“Put…me…down,” your teeth were so gritted now you thought they might break. “I’m not kidding, Dean.” You shoved at his chest and managed to wiggle from his grasp. He held his hands up in defeat. You slowly made your way to the exit of the building and realized it had started to rain.

The gravel was wet. You were thankful it was gravel, your shoes seemed to grip it a bit better. One slow step at a time, you passed the Impala and just kept walking. The darkness was overwhelming as you moved away from the yellow street light positioned just outside the warehouse and kept moving. You didn’t know where you were going. As soon as you hit grass, you fell to your knees. A bubble formed in the pit of your stomach; you felt it roll up your body until it rumbled out of your mouth as a sob.

Your face was wet—a mixture of tears and rain. You heard the gravel shift behind you and knew he was there. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, your knees soaking through from the wet grass.

He didn’t say anything, he just kneeled directly beside you. You saw his head duck as he tried to capture his thoughts.

“Y/N—” you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

“Shove it, Dean,” you cut him off, your words bitter. “Nothing you say…” you mumbled in between sobs. “…nothing you say can fix this.”

He cleared his throat. “I know that,” his voice was a little louder as the rain pelted down around you. The droplets bounced angrily off of the metal roof behind you. He stayed silent. The rain inspired you to pour everything out.

“If you and Sam had come with me,” you shook your head as the tears continued to fall. “It just…we could have stopped Crowley, Dean! We could have done it! Every, fucking hunt you find—I follow you blindly.” You didn’t mean for your words to sound as angry as they did; or maybe you meant every emotion behind them. You didn’t care. “Every time, Dean. I never ask any questions. I trust you and I go.”

Silence.

The only sound that filled your ears was the continued fall of the rain, and your heavy sobs. You managed to turn your head to look at him. You couldn’t be certain, but his face was covered with water—was he…crying?

You had never seen Dean Winchester cry, so you really didn’t know what to make of it. Before you could do or say anything, you felt a sadness in your heart. But it wasn’t from having witnessed your family be brutally murdered before your eyes…no, that was a feeling of despair; the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. This was sadness. Sadness for your friend—the man you had grown to care for, though he didn’t know it.

“Dean,” you started. You were mad at yourself—you were supposed to be pissed off at this man sitting next to you. You should have been seeing red. But you couldn’t. You had to make sure he was okay.

“Y/N, I am so…so sorry,” he breathed out as he wiped at his face. He tried to rid his face of the tears and the rain drops as they mixed together. “I thought that we had time. I thought we could…” he trailed off as you watched his eyes move over the strands of grass in front of you as he searched for the words. “…come up with a plan. I had no idea this would happen.”

Silence again, your eyes closed as more tears slipped through your eyelids. “Of course, you didn’t know,” you finally breathed out. Desperation set in as you realized this wasn’t Dean’s fault. You wanted someone to blame; you didn’t know what to do, what to say, where to go. “I don’t have anywhere to go anymore. My family is gone; I have no one.” The words fell from your lips as quickly as they entered your brain—you hadn’t even realized you were talking out loud until Dean moved on his knees until he was in front of you and his hands were on either side of your face.

You felt the calloused pads of his thumbs swipe under your burning eyes, his wrists moved to lift your gaze to meet his. “You have us, Y/N. You have…you have me,” he said so softly you weren’t sure you had heard him. “We will always be your family. Always, do you hear me?”

Your eyes scrunched closed as you cried. You brought your hands up to his and held on for dear life. You were grasping at anything at this point; it felt as though you were drowning.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” you mumbled as you slowly opened your eyes to look at him—desperation.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled his hands back. “I understand if you don’t want to stay with us,” he nodded, like he was trying to convince himself that he truly understood.

“No, Dean…this. Life, how am I supposed to even keep going?” Had you heard yourself speak this way a day ago, you would have been disgusted with yourself and how weak you sounded. But it was different now, and you didn’t care.

“Listen to me,” he reached for your face again—his eyes bore into yours. “It’s not easy, and I get that. The shitty part about life and what we do, is that we lose people. It happens way too often, and it never gets easier,” he said firmly. “But what you’re gonna do is come back to the bunker, get some rest and let us help you.”

The tears continued to fall—at this point, you had no idea how there were any tears left. But you were too tired and weak to fight him. Dean was too strong to fight when you were operating at one hundred percent; there was no way you could fight him now.

His eyes moved between yours as he studied your features. When he realized there was no longer resistance, he stood up from his spot on the grass and leaned down. He scooped you up into his arms—one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. The exhaustion was overpowering as your head hit his shoulder and you closed your eyes. The rain continued to beat against your hot flesh.

Sam opened the passenger door to the Impala while Dean helped you sit up. He grabbed your keys and tossed them to Sam. After closing your door, he had a few words with Sam before getting in the driver’s side. There were no words; just the hum of the engine as Dean drove you back to the bunker.

-----

Back at the bunker, numbness had set in. You had always heard of the Stages of Grief, but you never imagined going through them.

You felt tears bubble again; dammit. You hated crying—everything about it. The emotion, in general, but then also the congestion, the swollen eyes, the overall puffiness in your face. Dean had you on the edge of the bed facing the wall of your room in the bunker, he had just kneeled down in front of you. His eyes looked over your face and you could tell: Dean Winchester was trying to fix you. But there was no fixing this unless he found away to reverse time or bring your family back.

“Hey,” he breathed. His thumb ran small circles over your denim covered knee. “Listen, I know you’re going through it right now…” he trailed off. “But you’ve gotta get out of those wet clothes. You’re cold, you gotta get changed.” You could tell his brain was picking each word so carefully, which wasn’t very Dean Winchester-esque.

You hadn’t realized you were cold until you noticed your body was physically shaking. “I don’t care.” You breathed.

“Dammit, Y/N,” he muttered and stood up. His jaw tightened as he tried to control his frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face as he paced around your bedroom, one hand in his jean’s pocket, the other over his mouth, resting on his chin.

“I’m too tired, Dean. I just…I can’t,” you begged the tears to stop falling, but your body wasn’t listening. He turned back to you and you could see the sadness wash over his features.

“Well, will you let me help you?” He asked, calmer now as he realized you were just mentally and physically done.

You shuddered at the thought, but this time it wasn’t from the chill of the air on your wet clothes. This was something much deeper; something that had developed months ago but you had worked so hard to push out of your heart. You didn’t have the will to fight it anymore. You nodded carefully, a small nod—but you had been sure he had seen it.

His eyes watched yours and he nodded; he moved towards the dresser and retrieved a pair of pajama pants and an over-sized hoodie. He brought them back to the bed and cleared his throat. You could tell he was trying to keep this as professional as possible—he just wanted to take care of you. Dean put his hand out in front of you and you carefully took it. He helped pull you to your feet so you were standing just in front of him.

“Arms up,” he whispered. You brought your arms up to about your shoulders and winced, a slight pain on your left side just under your breast. Concern covered his face as his forehead creased. “You alright?” He pulled up your shirt and identified the culprit—there was a pretty solid bruise just under your bra. “Dammit, Cas healed you…” he seemed worried.

“To be fair,” you breathed. “There were a lot of injuries to heal. One healing session might not have cut it.”

He nodded in agreement and carefully continued to help you pull off your shirt. You had forgotten that you would be standing in front of Dean with your bra fully visible. The thought made your cheeks flush with warmth as you avoided eye contact. He cleared his throat again—clearly a bit uncomfortable himself. He reached for your hoodie and slid the arms on first before pulling it over your head.

You managed a small smile as your head popped through the hole at the top of the hoodie. “Thanks, Dean.” Your words were soft, and for a moment he thought he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Don’t thank me…” his eyes moved between yours again. “I am just…Y/N, I’ll never stop being sorry.” You could see the pain in his eyes; the guilt.

“Dean, I had no right to blame you,” you shook your head. There they were again—the fucking tears. And that’s when it hit you; it all hit you square in the face. You had been so hurt when Dean wouldn’t go, because you trusted him blindly—because you loved him. You loved him, and you wanted him to love you—to trust you.

“You alright?” He watched your eyes as you contemplated all of this.

You nodded and swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I just…” you hesitated; you weren’t brave enough to confess your findings to Dean. But then again, your mind went back to your family…your loved ones. If you had learned anything tonight, it was that life is short and time is fast—and Dean had even been the one to say it; we lose people. You decided against your better judgment and just went for it. “I think I blamed you because I trusted you, and I wanted you to trust me.”

Dean had his hands on your face once more. “I do trust you, Y/N—”

You cut in before he could finish. “No, I know. But I realized I trust you so much because…because I love you.” Your eyes found his yet again. They darted quickly between his green orbs to try and get a sense for what he was thinking. But you couldn’t read him; you couldn’t tell what was happening in his brain. “And…and I wanted you to love me, too.” You prayed it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt coming off of your lips; but, no regrets. You didn’t want to regret anything, not after tonight.

Without another word, his lips were on yours. They moved against you feverishly; it was as though he had yearned for this moment just as much as you had, if not more. One hand remained on your cheek, steadying you. The other moved to your hip and slipped under your hoodie, gently grasping onto the warm skin on your lower back to pull you closer.

He pulled back and you felt your chest heave as you came up for air. His eyes danced over yours again, this time reflecting a glint of…hope? Affection, maybe? Passion? You couldn’t be certain.

But then he licked his lips, his eyes traveled between your eyes and your now swollen lips. “I love you, too.” He murmured before his lips slowly caressed yours once more.

And in that moment, you felt whole again.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I meant to finish this yesterday, but the episode last night about broke me in two and I couldn’t write. Please let me know your thoughts!! My reading requests are open (submit via the Ask Me! link on my page). Please re-blog, like, etc.! All mistakes made in this are my own, please don’t re-post anywhere off of Tumblr :)

xx S

#supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural ff #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester

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shadowywerewolfqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Branded

My entry for Suptober Day 4: Branded. It definitely got away from me just a smidge haha.

There was a flash of bright white light and Cas slumped to the ground. “NO,” Dean whimpered, crawling towards the angel.

Just hours ago, they had finished cleaning out a vampire nest and they had walked out covered in blood but alive. Dean had come close to dying, and Cas was barely able to save him in time. The entire trip back to the hotel had been silent, each man lost in their own thoughts. As soon as the door shut, Dean looked at Cas and told him how he truly felt, how in his heart, he held so much love for Cas that it scared him. He had been petrified Cas would laugh in his face, but instead he had cupped Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him.

Just as Dean had leaned forward to deepen the kiss, he had been thrown backwards and pinned to the wall. He had struggled to move but he couldn’t even open his mouth to scream a warning to Cas as an oozing black mass appeared behind the angel. Dean watched with horrified eyes as the sludge slowly turned into a black haired woman he didn’t recognize.

The woman cackled, her eyes focused on Castiel. “I told you I would collect on our deal but only when you were truly happy. Never have I felt such happiness as I just did when you kissed that human.”

“Cas,” Dean was suddenly able to shout. Dean stared at Cas, his face a mask of terror.

The angel turned to face Dean, tears already pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry Dean. I had to save Jack. You’ve fought for this whole world. I had to fight for my family. Goodbye Dean, I love you.”

“No,” Dean hollered as the Shadow put a hand against the back of Cas’ head. He watched, paralyzed, as white light flooded from Cas’ eyes and mouth before fading and the angel’s limp body crumbled to the floor.

The Shadow looked at Cas’ body with a sadistic smile before disappearing without another word. Dean fell to the floor as he was released from his binds. “No,” he whimpered as he crawled across the carpet until he was right next to the angel. Dean’s gaze was locked on Cas’ face; his eyes were closed and he looked as if he could be sleeping but the scorch marks of his wings in the hotel room told another story.

“Cas,” Dean whispered before his throat was clogged with tears. His body was wracked with sobs as pain enclosed his heart with a vice-like grip. His head dropped until his chin was resting on his chest. He slowly lifted his hand to the bloody mark on his shoulder. Sometime during the hunt, Cas had grabbed Dean by the shoulder to keep him from getting attacked by a vampire. Once again, Cas had branded him and now it was the only thing he had left of the angel he loved.

When the tears had run dry, Dean glared at the empty air in front of him. “Don’t worry Cas, I’m gonna get you back, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Days later, Dean stood outside in a deserted cornfield. He dropped a match in the bowl on the ground and watched as black smoke billowed up. His face was set in a grimace as he stared straight in front of him. A mass of black ooze bubbled up from the ground until it took shape in an exact replica of Castiel. Dean barely managed to not flinch at seeing Cas’ face once again.

Dean pulled his gun from his pocket and aimed it at the Shadow. He pulled the trigger and watched with despair as the bullet hit the cosmic entity and was absorbed.

The Shadow looked at his chest where the bullet hit him. “You dare to shoot me! I am older than God himself and I could disintegrate your body down to the very atoms that make it up!”

Dean shot the gun again and once more the bullet sunk into the Shadow, not even a trace of blood left behind. He stared at the entity, fury burning in his eyes. “Bring him back you son of a bitch,” he demanded.

The being before him laughed maniacally. His lips were stretched in a malicious smile as he stared at Dean. “We made a deal, the angel and I. What could make me even consider breaking it?”

“Let’s make a new deal then,” Dean snapped.

The Shadow tilted his head, so reminiscent of Cas that it felt like a punch in the gut. “And what could you possibly offer me? You’re nothing but a human; you are inconsequential compared to me.”

“The world is ending and Sam, Jack, and I are expected to kill God and set it all right again. Well, you bring Cas back or else we’ll let Chuck destroy it all,” Dean answered, his voice void of all emotion.

The Shadow’s face was suddenly filled with rage. “You wouldn’t dare let the world burn! You’ve fought so many times to save it!”

“Try me. Bring Cas back or else we’re all goners,” Dean said.

Suddenly, a hand was wrapped tightly around Dean’s throat, cutting off his air supply. Dean barely flinched. He stared at the Shadow, clenching his jaw to keep from struggling for air. “Go ahead, kill me and see how much Jack and Sam continue to help,” he rasped.

The Shadow released him and Dean gasped for breath. “Fine. You want the angel back, you can have him but on two conditions.”

“Name them.”

An evil smirk spread across the cosmic entity’s face. “One: If the angel survives the fight against God, he becomes human the instant God is dead.”

Dean felt his stomach drop at the Shadow’s words. “What’s the other?” he asked.

“You want him back, you have to find him. The Empty is nothing but darkness, so you could spend the rest of your life there and never even come close to finding him. You don’t understand something Dean. You and your brother aren’t the ones Billie and I need. The only one we need is Jack and we will force him to defeat God if we have to. You’re expendable, Dean,” the Shadow said darkly. “So, what do you say?”

“Take me to the Empty. I’ll find him,” Dean said with conviction.

The Shadow chuckled. “We’ll just see about that.”

The next instant Dean was surrounded by a darkness so complete that he couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open or closed. There wasn’t a drop of light to be found in the Empty and Dean was filled with apprehension as he attempted to look around.

“Cas,” he called. The silence was deafening, not even a single echo of his voice penetrating the darkness. “CAS! CAS! Answer me,” he shouted. He was met with silence.

Dean ran his hands through his hair and stared into the void as he felt tears run down his cheeks. He had to save Cas, he just had to. The last time Cas had died, Dean had barely made it without him. This time, he wasn’t strong enough to keep living without Cas. He needed his angel more than he needed the breath in his body. Dean fell to his knees, unsure of what to do.

Without thinking, Dean moved his hand to rest on his shoulder. Even though Cas’ handprint had disappeared years ago, deep down, he could still feel its remnants. Throughout the years, the memory of that handprint had kept Dean’s spirits alive. It had been a beacon of hope in a sea of darkness when Dean felt like he was drowning.

“Cas, please, I need you,” Dean whispered as his hand slotted right over where Cas had gripped him tight so many years ago. Without warning, Dean’s shoulder started tingling and a weak glow formed under his fingertips. Dean pulled his hand away and stared in shock at the dimly glowing handprint.

He stood to his feet and stared at his shoulder as he felt a weak pulse emanating from the mark. “Cas,” he called again but the handprint did nothing. He sighed, figuring his only option left was to start walking and hoped he found the angel. He started to move forward and noticed that the glow got dimmer, almost fading away completely.

He paused and suddenly got an ideal. He started walking back the way he came and watched as the mark started glowing brighter. “Please be leading me to Cas,” he whispered as he continued walking.

As he walked, the mark grew brighter and if it started to dim, Dean changed his direction until it started glowing brighter again. He walked and walked, no idea if it was minutes or hours or longer. Dean stopped when the burn in his arm abruptly became unbearable. He fell to his knees, clutching at his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the pain. The light was so vivid that Dean slammed his eyes shut but it did little to help. The burn was becoming unbearable and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to handle the pain.

“CAS,” he called as he slumped to the ground. He shouted as the burn intensified, singeing his nerve endings until all he felt was white hot fire coursing through his body. In the next instant, Dean lost consciousness.

“Dean, Dean, DEAN!”

Dean jolted awake and sat up so quick that he nearly slammed into the man leaning over him. His eyes went wide when he realized who was staring back at him. “Cas,” he cried as he threw his arms around the angel’s neck.

“Hello Dean,” Cas whispered as he wrapped Dean up in his embrace. Finally, Dean pulled back but not so much that Cas’ arms fell from his waist.

“What happened? How are you awake?” Dean asked as he stared at Cas with disbelief.

Cas smiled softly and reached out to touch the hunter on his shoulder. Dean dropped his gaze to where Cas’ hand rested. He grinned at seeing the angel’s handprint once more branded into his skin. The handprint on his arm was no longer burning but was still glowing softly.

Cas’ eyes locked with his. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Dean reached out to cup Cas’ cheek. “I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

“I love you too,” Cas said before pulling Dean into a passionate kiss.

When they broke apart, they were sitting on the floor of the hotel room, the Shadow staring at them with a furious expression. “That’s not possible,” it seethed.

“I told you I would find him. Now, get the hell out of here. Our deal is done,” Dean said coldly.

The Shadow screamed before disappearing in the blink of an eye. Once he was gone, Cas asked, “What deal?”

“The deal to override your deal,” Dean replied.

“I made that deal to save Jack,” Cas argued.

“Yeah, you made a deal. You made a stupid deal and I broke it. You’re welcome,” Dean said with a smirk. Before Cas could say anything, he pulled the angel in for a kiss. He would break a thousand deals if it meant he got to keep Cas in his arms where he belonged.

@notwithd

#suptober20 #My writing #my OTP #Destiel

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midnight-moonlight-and-mars · 4 years ago

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Beyond Wayward Part 2

Warnings: Mentions of (attempted) Suicide

Pairings: Eventual Dean x (___)!Reader (you’ll find out what that is later ;)

Tags: @(this could be you!)

A/N: This took forever but here you go. Also this is obviously AU. And if it goes far enough, the later seasons of the show as well as the ending

Check out my Masterlist here!

*******************************************************

The echoes of her footsteps on the floor rang through the halls of this godforsaken church… Breathless and in tears she ran. The clap of her shoes on the floor echoed throughout the empty and endless halls.

Looking back for a moment she realized the church was gone, and in its place was that monster. Y/n began running even faster now with her heartbeat ready to burst through her chest. The monster let out an ear-piercing screech before swinging its long arms down her back. Just as she felt it’s cold claws reach her spine, she woke up

Y/n jolted awake to the smell of takeout and the sound of discussion. It took a second for her body to adjust to her new surroundings. To her surprise, she was fully able to move her legs, and her skin was no longer numb from the long hours she spent in the rain. Speaking of rain, all of her clothes felt dry, even her hair. Y/n’s first thought was that she was safe and that it all must have been some sort of hallucination or dream. That’s when she remembered two strangers carrying her as she nearly bled to death.

At that realization, Y/n quickly sat herself up and scanned the room. Staring right back at her were those men, or at least she thought.

“Hey, there sleeping beauty! How are you feeling?” one of them said, setting his beer on the table and adjusting in his seat.

Y/n was never great with men, especially men who are strangers, and strangers she just watched kill a monster a foot taller than them. Although they seemed to be reasonable people she was wary of taking any chances…

Nice or not, Y/n felt extraordinarily self-conscious. She was in a torn wedding dress, unconscious in a motel room, with two men she just watched kill a monster, who seemed to have carried her into a car drove here and put her on their bed.

“You speak any English?” he continued.

Realizing she forgot to say anything she hurried to find the right words, but just ended up nodding instead.

“Right. Well, you took quite the fall back there, glad to see you’re still alive and in one piece.” the man said eyeing Y/n closely.

The other guy chimed in after him. “I guess we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Sam and that’s my brother Dean. We’re hunters. When we found you, you were being chased by an evil spirit that we’ve been hunting in the past few days.”

“It was a spirit of niraasha, a.k.a. a spirit of despair. It feeds off of people’s pain, but it would just cripple or kill them if it manages to find the right person. By the looks of it, it seems you had plenty...”

Y/n felt heat flush her cheeks when he said that. It would make sense for that thing to be drawn to her. Honestly, she was extremely embarrassed. In midst of nearly ending her life, she finds herself fighting for it.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked.

“Y/n,” she said, voice still sore from all the screaming and heavy breathing.

When she talked it seemed to cut through the tension in the room. Everyone seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Dean stood up and rummaged through a paper bag with what Y/n assumed was food.

“So Y/n, you hungry?”

Grabbing hold of the warm wad of foil that smelled amazing, Y/n found herself slowly being able to trust them. If they wanted to hurt her then they would have done so already, right?

As Y/n began unwrapping the rather large hamburger, she felt like there was a hole in her memory, or maybe something important she was forgetting. Y/n took a moment to think before remembering she was bleeding before, and rather profusely. Throwing the burger aside she quickly bunched up her dress to her thigh frantically searching for where the bleeding came from, and to make sure she was no longer losing blood.

To her confusion, any streams of blood from before were smudged and wiped, but there was no wound. Dean took notice of her visible confusion as she examined her legs and immediately knew what was wrong, but he did not know how he would explain it.

“Wasn’t I hurt? I could have sworn that thing scratched me...” she looked at Dean and Sam waiting for an explanation or them to say she was crazy, but they didn’t look too worried.

“Yeah, uh a friend of ours took care of that for you…” Dean quickly redirected the conversation. The reason you aren’t in a hospital right now is not only because you don’t have any injuries, but there are more of those things out there. That screeching you heard earlier was it telling its friends to join in on the action.” Dean handed Y/n their dad’s journal open to niraasha.

“If we left you at a hospital they would eventually find you. Each victim so far has been unique and had a specific trail that these things follow. The screeching wasn’t just a call to arms, it was your tag. It lets the others know everything they need to find you and what to look for.” Sam continued, trying to be as transparent as possible.

As much as Y/n appreciated that they saved her life, this was way too much. More of them? She barely escaped the last time! She thought of going home, but she didn’t have one anymore. Y/n had nothing to lose. What choice did she have?

“How do you plan on stopping all of them?” Despite her fear and anxiety overwhelming her, Y/n was determined to stop these monsters. If not for herself, then for the next victim.

“Well, we have to find them first. That’s where you come in. No matter how long or far we run they’ll find you, so for right now we let them come to us…”

Sam interrupted. “Are you sure you want to do this? We are asking you to risk your life here and it can’t be easy. If you’re unsure, that’s ok. We would completely understand.”

Y/n doubted herself for a moment. It wasn’t a matter of if she was up for it, but a matter of if she could do it. She had never even raised her voice before, how could she possibly do this? These guys have a lifetime of experience compared to a one-day accident. But she deserves this right? This is what she wanted. Or was it?

“What do you want me to do?”

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural #castiel #crowley

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years ago

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Black Velvet

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1436

Warnings: (for the series as a whole) Demon!Dean (he deserves his own warning, dub-con, rough sex, smut, angst

Prologue

The air is pressing in around you. Gravity is a bully, pushing at you until you can barely lift your feet. Sorrow is heavy, thick…a smothering presence that halts all thought, leaving only pain, unvoiced because there are no words dark enough, despairing enough, hopeless enough to describe it.

You stumble from Dean’s room, blindly making your way down the hall towards the library. Sam throws back a shot of whiskey as you watch from the doorway, and his eyes, dead and lifeless, move up to meet yours. Your lips part, you open your mouth, but no word or sound escapes. Your throat constricts and you look back down again, unable to bear the desolation on his face. You turn away, slow motion as if you are wading through a sea of molasses, and then you feel his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back, turning you towards him as he folds you into himself.

And that’s when you break. You feel, more than hear, the deep sob being wrenched from Sam’s chest, and you crumble into sharp, brittle shards, quaking in his unyielding embrace as you curl your fingers into fists around handfuls of his soft plaid. Sam sinks to his knees as he holds you, and you clutch each other, the vortex of grief and loss sucking at you, clawing, trying to pull you both under.

Chapter 1

You’re beyond tired, right down to your bones. Your eyes feel dry, almost gritty from lack of sleep and the sea of tears you’ve cried the last few days. Everything aches. Everything.

But Sam needs you. The desperate search for Dean, or what used to be Dean, has consumed him, and you are doggedly determined to be there for him, to find answers when he needs them. You are holding yourselves together – Sam, by his fierce devotion to recovering his brother’s body and bringing him back, and you, by throwing yourself completely into giving him some kind of anchor to hold on to. Sam has stubborn, unrelenting hope that Dean can be saved. You, however, are in mourning for him, desolate and achingly lonely for the man you loved with everything you have in you. Being there for Sam is the only thing keeping you from lying curled up in your bed and surrendering completely to the grief that presses in on you every minute of every day.

You send Sam a message containing the information he asked for and close the laptop, folding your arms on top of it and laying your head on them for a moment. You just need to rest your eyes, just for a few seconds. You should eat something, but nothing has any flavor. You should sleep, but the fear of the nightmares that haunt you keep you from your bed. The memory of his battered and bloody face are always in your mind, but in your dreams… it’s fresh, agonizing, just as if you’re seeing him for the first time. And you can’t bear it.

Warmth surrounds you like a blanket, and you feel a brush of lips against your neck. You sigh softly, as strong hands run up the slope of your back, then gently knead at your aching shoulders. And then a chill runs up your spine as you realize there is no one there to kiss you, to touch you. You jerk yourself upright and turn in your chair, eyes wide and terrified… but there is nothing to see. You could swear you weren’t asleep, but… you must have been.

And if you can fall asleep at the table, you really must give in and go to bed. You take a sleeping pill, hoping it will keep your subconscious safely at bay, and crawl between the sheets, hugging a pillow to your chest.

Consciousness slowly but insistently prods at you until your eyes flutter open. Impressions from your dream are still with you, your senses still almost sure it was real. You still feel the heat of a body curled up close behind you, warm breath on your neck. His scent still surrounds you. The thought occurs to you, not for the first time, that you should have gone with Sam. At least then you wouldn’t be quietly losing your mind all alone in the echoing halls of the bunker.

A shower and a hot cup of coffee help clear the cobwebs, and you plop down into a chair at one of the tables in the library, sighing as you open your laptop. Sam asked you to keep checking for signs of demonic activity, and despite the fact that you think he’s on a hopeless quest, you refuse to let him down. Your phone vibrates against the gleaming mahogany surface of the table, making you jump a little, and you reach for it.

“Sam? Are you okay?”

“Hey, Smalls. I’m okay. Are you sure you are? I feel bad, leaving you there alone…”

The guilt in his voice makes you wish he was here so you could hug him. “Sam, I’m fine. Well, as fine as you are, anyway. What’s up?”

“Listen, that guy you called me about? Drew Neely?”

“Yeah… sorry. Probably turned out to be nothing, right?”

“Actually, I’m going to Wisconsin to check it out.”

“Sam, you realize – it’s probably not…”

“Listen, Smalls – I know you think I’m crazy. Or delusional. Whatever. But I know something out there is wearing my brother, I know Crowley’s behind it, and I can’t let that go.” You don’t know how to answer that, so you just wait, and Sam finally speaks again. “I can’t let some – thing – use Dean like that. I need to find him, bring him home.” He’s quiet again for a moment, but you can hear his ragged breathing, and you know he’s struggling to keep it together. “Even if I can’t get him back… maybe if we can, you know, lay him to rest… maybe…”

“I know, Sam.” Your eyes are swimming with tears as you hear the pain in his voice, and your chest aches with the effort to control your emotions. “I know. Do what you have to do. Just check in, often. Let me know you’re okay. Or if you find anything. And be careful. I know you want to go after Crowley, but – Sam, just… I can’t stand losing anyone else right now.”

“I know, Smalls. I’ll be careful. I promise. Call you later.”

Food. You have to eat something. Forcing yourself to get up from the chair, you go to the kitchen. There isn’t much to choose from, but there are still a few eggs in the fridge, and it doesn’t take long to scramble a couple. After forcing them down, you refill your cup with strong, bitter coffee and trudge back to the library. The cup slips from your numb fingers, your mouth and eyes widen as you see him, leaning back against the edge of the table, legs casually crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest as he grins sardonically at your shock.

“Surprised to see me?”

Your heart is pounding so hard you can barely breathe, panic squeezing at your chest. “Dean? What… how…”

He shifts his weight from the table and takes a step towards you, and you skitter backwards clumsily, one hand held out as if to ward him off. A humorless chuckle vibrates in his chest as he stops, and you blindly reach out a hand for support, connecting with a small table lamp that crashes to the floor. His laughter echoes through the room, and your knees connect with the chair behind you, dropping you ungracefully into its seat.

“You should really calm down, sweetheart. I just wanted to stop in, say hello to my girl.”

“Sam’s looking for you,” you manage to blurt out, your voice barely recognizable.

“Oh, I know. He’s a real pain in the ass. Besides, you’re the one I wanted to see.” He moves closer, stalking you, but your body doesn’t respond, can’t manage to leap out of the chair and run. And he grins again as he stands over you, bending to rest his hands on the arms of the chair, staring down at you. “I’ve been kind of… hanging around. You probably thought you were dreaming, right? No, baby, I’ve been here, with you. Just wanted to give you a little time to adjust. I’m not a monster, you know.” He leans in, his face directly in front of you, his smile gone, and you whimper in fear as his eyes go completely black. “I’m a demon.”

Chapter 2

#black velvet reblog #demon!dean fic #demon!dean x reader #dean x reader

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casgetoutofmyass0907 · 4 years ago

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“Trench Coat Angel” Fix it fic

This is just a quick fic I wrote. I hope you all enjoy it :)

The familiar rumble of the engine made Dean feel at ease as he drove off. It was strange, being in heaven, but he was grateful he made it. Memories flooded through him, all those hours spent behind the wheel while Sam researched always off to save the day once again. He would miss that, but most of all he hoped that Sam could find peace. He hoped Sam would have the life Dean knew he deserved. Sam never admitted it, but Dean knew he wanted a family. A chance to be better than their father had been, to have true joy in his life. Sometimes Dean thought of where they would be if he never entered Sam’s dorm that day 15 years ago. Hell, Dean would have probably been dead a long time ago if it weren’t for his brother. Dean couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Sam has a chance to get out of the hunting life, he could be free with no one holding him back. He just wished he could be there to see it.

He couldn’t help but think of Cas, the words he confessed before The Empty took him. “You changed me, Dean.” Not a day went by that he didn’t think of the angel. Dean pulled the impala over on the side of the road, a vast forest surrounding him. The sun was shining through the trees, reflecting off the hood of Baby. Dean slowly opened the door and stepped out, taking a moment to just breathe. He had felt like he was holding his breath for the past few days, between losing Cas, defeating Chuck, and ultimately dying he didn’t have a minute to himself. That’s when the tears started and Dean slid to the ground leaning his head against the driver's side door.

“I’m so sorry Cas,” Dean began to pray, tears falling down his cheeks soaking the collar of his jacket. His chest constricts as he struggles to breathe and he lets out a sigh. “I am so sorry I didn’t try to save you. I- I don’t have an excuse. You sacrificed yourself for nothing because I went and got myself killed anyway.”

Dean’s head falls into his hands and he begins to sob, harder than the day he watched Cas get taken. As he closes his eyes he remembers the last words he said. “Don’t do this Cas.” So many things he could have said and those were his last words to him.

“I never got to say thank you for being in my life. For showing me that I was deserving of love, that I could love. And it was all for nothing.” Dean sniffles and raises his head, eyes still closed trying to gather his thoughts.

The wind stirred leaves on the ground as Dean heard the flap of wings. “It wasn’t for nothing.”

Dean knew that voice. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Castiel standing there. He was dressed in the same black suit he always wore, wearing his tie loose with the top button of his shirt undone. His black hair shone in the dying sun and his eyes were the same blue Dean remembered. “Cas?” Dean said as he began to rise from the ground.

“Hello Dean.”

Without another thought Dean threw his arms around Cas, gripping onto the fabric of his suit, afraid to let go. Afraid Cas would be ripped from him again. Castiel stiffened at the sudden gesture but relaxed into Dean’s embrace wrapping his own arms around as Dean softly cried into his shoulder. “I never thought I would see you again,” Dean said, still gripping onto Cas tightly.

Cas removed himself from the hug to look into Dean’s eyes and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them. Those eyes that drew him in each day, the eyes of the man he loved. “I didn’t think I would see you either, but here we are,” Cas said with a smile, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s.

Dean released his grip on Cas and looked to the ground, pushing around a small rock with his foot. “Cas, I don’t understand how you could sacrifice yourself for me.” He looks up to see Cas’s face. “How I was the one thing that made you truly happy. And then it hit me, all of the times that we were alone, all of the sidelong glances and when we hugged for a little longer than we should have. Remembering how you made me smile, made me laugh from the first few times we really started to know each other.” Tears still fell down Dean’s face, but they were no longer ones of despair, they were tears of happiness.

Dean let out a small chuckle and took a step towards Cas, taking Cas’s hand in his. “All of the times we were together, each time I looked into your eyes, and especially in those last moments when you told me you loved me. That’s when I knew.”

“Dean you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. You deserve to know what should have been said before you died. You made me the person I am today Cas. You made me realize that these feelings I have had all of these years weren’t just platonic, that I shouldn’t have kept denying them. You say that I changed you, but you made me know that I deserved to live. I deserved to live when I was always at peace with dying. I deserved to be loved, and you loved me.” a slight pause, “And I love you too.” Dean sniffled and let out a breath with those words. The feeling he had been repressing for years was finally revealed.

Cas’s face lit up but before he could say anything Dean continued. “You sacrificed yourself for me, and then I was stupid and in the heat of the moment I didn’t pay attention and I died. I died doing something I have done my entire life. We could have died together, but you left me and I never came to terms with the fact that you were gone, and with my head all fogged up I made a fatal mistake. Your sacrifice was for nothing.” Dean looked away from Cas again, still in disbelief of the mistake he made.

Cas lifted Dean’s head to face him. “It wasn’t for nothing, Dean. If I hadn’t have done what I did you wouldn’t have been able to defeat Chuck and save the world. My love and sacrifice for you saved the world.” Cas smiled and wiped the tears from Dean’s face. “It wasn’t for nothing.”

Cas pulled Dean’s face close to his and they stood there, their foreheads rested against each other just breathing, sharing the same breath. Dean doesn’t know how long they stood like that, enjoying each other's touch, but then Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s and they shared a moment neither of them expected to ever have. Dean had kissed many women in his life, but nothing compared to the feeling of kissing Cas, sharing a kiss of true love. The love that saved the world.

When they finally pulled away Dean couldn’t help but smile and look into Cas’s eyes. He had never seen Cas truly happy until then and the thought that he could bring an angel of the lord so much happiness made Dean feel giddy. Without saying anything, Dean walked over to Baby and popped the trunk. “I see that Jack couldn’t manage to rescue all of you, so I figured you might want this.” Dean tossed a ball of tan fabric at Cas, who was barely able to catch it.

Cas unfolded his trench coat and smiled at the thought that Dean had held onto it. Cas had lost count of the number of coats he had strewn throughout the bunker, but he remembered this one. The shoulders were browned from where sparks had hit the fabric in the barn the first time he met Dean. He honestly thought he had thrown that one away. “You kept this?” Cas questioned as he looked back at Dean who was now leaning against the side of the impala, arms crossed in front of him.

“Of course I did.” Dean walked over and took the coat from Cas’ hands and gestured for him to turn around.

Dean slid Cas’s arms into each of the holes, making sure to let his hands linger on Cas for longer than necessary. When Cas turned back to face him Dean couldn’t help but smile. The wind had pushed a few strands of hair into Castiel’s face, and Dean could almost see a blush on his cheeks. “You look as amazing as the day I met you.”

Cas looked away from Dean, too embarrassed to face him. How could a simple line make him feel this way? “Um. Thank you.”

Dean took Cas’s face in his hands and kissed him once more. “I think it’s time I go greet Sammy. You’ll wait for me back at the Roadhouse?”

“Of course Dean.”

“Good,” Dean said and pulled away, starting towards the impala. Hand on the handle Dean looks over his shoulder at Cas, taking in the view of his angel once more. “I love you Cas.”

“I love you too Dean.” with that and a flutter of wings Cas was gone.

Dean opened the door and sat down in the seat, taking a minute to process what had happened as he ran his hands over the steering wheel. He felt content and happy and was finally able to enjoy that feeling. Still smiling, he took a deep breath, started the car, and drove off. “I’ll see ya soon Sammy.”

#destiel supernatural fixitfic

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darkshrimpemotions · 4 years ago

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Another SPN Finale Fix-It

I wrote this last night (well...this morning, at like 4am-ish) in the wake of SPNgate. I’ve been wanting to write a fix-it since 15x20 aired, but from the bottom of the hole that episode put me in I couldn’t see it.

But last night, well. I didn’t so much climb out of the hole as I was dragged out by the pure swell of rage and joy in the fandom in the wake of the revelation prompted by @agusvedder posting that video clip.

Then @sunforgrace posted a bunch of lovely stuff about Orpheus and Eurydice. And suddenly, I knew what fix-it fic I wanted to write. So I put Dean’s Theme and Wait For Me on repeat, and I wrote it.

I love this fandom.

---

Well, That’s A Start

Read on AO3

Chuck Shurley, a.k.a. Carver Edlund, a.k.a. God wasn't right about much in his long, long life, but he was right about one thing:

Endings are hard.

The longer and more winding the journey, the harder it is to imagine a satisfying way for that journey to end. After all, how many lives can really be summed up in a single high note? How often do we really get any closure from an epilogue?

Maybe you spend your life fighting for a righteous cause. You make mistakes, you break as often as you build. Maybe you find a family and try to hold them close. You learn more about loss than any one person should be able to bear. Maybe you fight the good fight. Maybe you lose.

But what if you win?

What if you slay the dragon, cage the monster, beat the house? What if you go to sleep in a world that's safer, knowing you made it safer?

And what if you wake up to the sun rising over that world, and don't know where you fit into it?

So Chuck falls, and Jack ascends. God is one with creation and all is right with the world. Except.

Cas is still gone. And Dean...Dean doesn’t know what to do except what he’s always done: run headlong towards his own destruction.

But it's not a hopeless, senseless act of chance, not this time. And it isn’t despair. It's a choice. It all comes down to choices, in the end.

They're free. Dean could move on. He could find a life for himself, outside of hunting or within it, and try to heal, and hope to forget.

But he finds he can't do that. Or, if he’s being honest with himself, he just...doesn't want to. And for the first time in his life, what he wants matters.

So he tells Sam he has one more mission.

It's dangerous, maybe even foolish, and it might kill him. There’s no guarantee of success, barely even a hope of it. He still needs to at least try. And if he dies trying, he's sorry. But this is his endgame. This is what he has--no, it's what he wants--to do.

And Sam...he understands. Of course he understands. He knows what Cas and Dean mean to each other. He saw the look on Dean's face when he told them Cas was gone. He's been expecting this ever since they left Chuck groveling in the dust.

Sam's own journey stretches out in front of him, towards Eileen and the other hunters, all the people Jack brought back, the endless knowledge in the bunker and Rowena's books he's never quite had time to fully explore. He's always loved to bury himself in stacks of books, to search for meaning and understanding and gray where others saw only black and white and act and kill or be killed. He's a scholar in his heart, but he's also a hunter. And at last, these are two halves of a whole that is not at war with itself. He can be both of these things. He doesn't have to choose.

But first, he will help Dean, however he can. And he won't make Dean choose, either. Destiny or family. Brother or lover. They will never tear each other apart in the name of these things again, he swears to himself on the spot. He will be there for his brother the way Dean was always there for him. So Sam sits with Dean as he prepares, a steady supportive presence.

They call for Jack, hoping he will still respond. He does, but Jack can't fix it for them. When he was just a wild, newborn nephilim he could do things beyond almost anyone's ken. After all, there is only one rule for a thing that isn't supposed to be allowed to exist, and he broke it the moment he was born. But as the new god, he has rules even he has to obey, at least if he wants to maintain his world's tenuous new sense of balance.

He can't invade the Empty or snatch back her prey, but he can do this, just one thing: he can hold open a door.

It will be up to Dean to convince the Empty to let him have Cas. Up to Dean to see them both safely home.

Dean goes immediately, without fanfare or long goodbyes. He doesn't want the specter of the possibility of failure hanging over him in his family’s worries faces. And, too, he doesn't want to wait. He thinks they've both waited long enough.

His first step into the Empty is like forgetting how to see and hear and breathe, all at once. The Empty is more than darkness, and it's more than cold. It's the complete absence of all things. It's unfinished business and words left unsaid, would’ve, could’ve, should’ve pressing in on all sides. He feels small, in a way he hasn't felt since he was four years old, carrying a crying bundle out of a burning house. He presses through that crushing lack of being, more determined than ever to take Cas away from this place.

He moves quietly as he begins his search, but in a world of nothing any little something makes a deafening noise. It doesn't take long for the Empty to show themselves.

The face they wear time is all-too-familiar.

"Dean Winchester," says the soft, raspy voice in a lilting British accent. "I thought you and yours were topside, living the sweet life now that nepotism is finally working in your favor."

"Nice suit," Dean forces through a throat paralyzed by fear and regret, sarcasm coming to his rescue even now. "I'm here for one thing, and then I'll let you get back to your nap."

"And how can I be of service to you today." Empty-Crowley deadpans.

Dean swallows. Licks his lips. Swallows again.

"Cas," he manages at last. "Castiel. The angel. He's coming home with me."

The Empty sneers in a way that looks out of place on Crowley's tired features.

"Well! Can it be the stoic Dean Winchester has finally deigned to return the syrupy affections of poor, pining Castiel?"

Dean clenches his jaw, but doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. Empty-Crowley reads him like an open book, his vindictive grin widening further.

"How touching," he says, voice dripping with sardonic glee. "If only Castiel could have known. He's dreaming of you here, you know. Dreaming of all the times he let you down. All the moments he wanted to tell you, and didn't. Everything he never got to have."

Dean wants to scream. He wants to attack, use his fists the way he always has, beat the wrongs of the world in front of him until they become right.

But that's never really worked. And he needs this to work. So he swallows his rage and holds out both his hands, palms up.

"Please," he says, softly. It feels like begging, because it is. "Please. I need to take him home."

The Empty just stares at him for several minutes, saying nothing in return.

"If...if you won't let him go, then." Dean's hands fall to his sides. "...Take me to him instead."

At that, The Empty looks at last intrigued.

"Interesting," he says. "Very interesting." A slow smile begins to spread across that face, too wide and wholly unlike Crowley's real smile.

Dean closes his eyes and braces himself for the blow to fall.

I'm sorry Sammy, he thinks, followed closely by I’m coming, Cas.

But the blow never comes, and Dean opens his eyes to see Empty-Crowley examining his nails, feigning boredom.

“Fine,” he says at last, nonchalant. “I never cared about keeping the angel, one way or another. I just wanted some quiet around here. Is that too much to ask? But you and your godforsaken Castiel. Do you know how many times he’s woken me up over the years? Everyone else stays in their bunks after lights out, but not him. He wakes up every time. Always the same sad old refrain, too. ‘I have to get back to Dean.’”

The Empty’s voice is thick with mocking, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s still stuck on the revelation that Cas has been here before, that he’s escaped before. That even that was never Chuck at all. It was all Castiel.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, so he files it away for later. Much later. When they’re home. He recognizes the first dangerous swell of hope in his chest and tries to tamp down on it, keep it under control in case this is a trick.

The Empty seems to know what he’s thinking. They roll their eyes and turn to stare at a spot on the not-ground that looks like just more nothingness to Dean.

“Castiel,” they say, in a voice that vibrates through Dean’s bones. And he watches, afraid to breathe, as something takes shape within the void. The achingly familiar form of a slight man in a tan trench coat, with tired blue eyes and dark, slightly unkempt hair.

Dean takes a shaky step forward.

“Cas--” he starts, but the Empty holds up a hand to stop him.

“Not so fast,” they say, the bored tone giving way to a sort of gleeful malice. “I have a final test for you. I need to know that if you leave, neither of you will ever darken my doorway again...so to speak.”

“Okay,” Dean says immediately. “Done. No visits, no postcards. Got it.”

The Empty smiles mirthlessly.

“Oh no, it’s not that simple. You see, there’s only one way you can guarantee Castiel will never come here again.”

Dean feels it coming before the blow lands, but he still isn’t ready for it.

“He cannot take his grace with him. That’s mine. It’s what angels have in lieu of souls, and it stays with me. You can keep the human husk.”

Dean wants to argue, wants to say this isn’t fair. Wants to ask Cas what he wants, but Cas doesn’t seem to be able to see or hear anything around him. He’s afraid of what it will do to Cas, living without his grace. He remembers,all too well, a vision of the future: hapless, helpless, hopeless. I used to belong to a much better club.

But it’s this or an eternity of nothing but being tortured with all of his regrets. And Dean is trying this new thing where he goes after what he wants. So he takes a long moment to search Cas’s face, then he turns back to the Empty.

“Deal,” he says. The Empty’s smile widens, and there’s that vindictive glint again that makes Dean’s stomach churn.

“Good,” they croon. At some point, they stopped looking like Crowley. Dean barely even noticed. He shivers at hearing a voice come out of that rippling darkness.

“That’s just perfect,” they continue. “Now to seal the deal, I need you to turn around, and walk away. Go back through your door, seal it up, and tell your new god to keep his grubby little toddler hands out of my domain, forever.”

“What?” Dean asks, the hope turning to lead in his chest.

“You heard me,” the Empty says. “Turn around and walk away. Don’t look back, and do not speak a word. If Castiel holds true to form--if he loves you as much as you think he does--he will follow you home and leave his grace behind. But for the deal to hold, he has to go willingly...and you cannot look at him, or touch him, or speak to him, or sway him in any way. So...I do hope you got a chance to say everything you needed to say the last time you saw one another.”

Dean grits his teeth, fear and fury and bitter longing, warring for the foremost spot in his heart. But he’s come this far, and he knows of no good way to fight, and no way at all to win. Bargaining is all that’s left to him. Fitting, since it’s the stage of grief he’s always found himself getting stuck in.

It’s a cruel kind of irony, that it all comes down to this, in the end: does Dean Winchester have faith?

He closes his eyes. Thinks of Cas’s face the last time they were together. Yes, he thinks. Yes, I do.

Then he turns, and he puts one foot in front of the other, and he walks away from the Empty.

Toward home.

---

The journey back seems to take ten times as long as the journey in. And through it all, there’s the crushing uncertainty and the deafening silence radiating from just over his shoulder. Is Cas behind him? If he reached out with one hand, would he meet coarse fabric, something warm and solid...or only air? If he turned, would there be anything to see?

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. And that it’s his own fault he doesn’t know is just adding insult to self-injury.

He’s never believed. Not in angels, and not in God, and definitely not in mercy. Not that good things could happen. Not that anyone could really love him, much less someone like Cas. He still doesn’t believe, deep down in his heart of hearts, that he deserves it.

But he does believe Cas deserves a chance, a real chance, at happiness. Not one pure crystallized moment around which to build walls and walls of regret for eternity. But real, lasting, messy, imperfect human happiness. And if the cost of that is a few hours of agony for Dean, he will gladly pay it. He’s been through worse, and will go through worse again, if Cas decides that lasting happiness cannot be found in him after all.

If Cas decides he can’t forgive Dean for making such a choice for him. For leaving his grace behind.

It’ll be okay, he tells himself. Because at least Cas will be alive to make that choice.

What already felt like hours seems to stretch into days. Each step gets harder, and each moment he doesn’t know whether Cas is behind him is like thirty years in hell at the mercy of Alistair’s knife.

Alistair. He hasn’t thought of that name in a long time. The very first thing Cas saved him from, but not the last. I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

But he’d done more than that, hadn’t he? Dean remembers his last moments, hellhounds digging into him from all sides. He remembers the note of fear and awe in Bobby’s voice when he said your chest was ribbons...your insides were slop.

Cas hadn’t just rescued Dean’s soul, he’d also remade his body, the only evidence left behind the mark of his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean reaches up and touches that shoulder, wraps his hand in the fabric of his jacket over the bloody echo of that moment Cas left on him just days ago. He summons every scrap of faith he has, and trudges on.

As time stretches out, Dean finds himself remembering other moments, too. Some make him smile, though the happiness aches in the midst of all this uncertainty. Some make him wince at how oblivious he could be, how thoughtlessly cruel. He tallies up every soft word Cas ever gave him, and every harsh thing he’s ever said in return.

Cas, you child.

No one cares that you’re broken.

You can’t stay.

Next time I won’t miss.

Why does that thing always seem to be you?

Don’t do this, Cas.

He has a lot to make up for, if this journey ever comes to an end.

It takes a small eternity, but at last. At last, there’s a sliver of something in all the nothing. Light, the familiar warmth-and-dust color of the lights in the bunker. Just a crack at first, then it grows larger, and larger, until he’s standing in front of the door.

He stops. This is it. In front of him, the picture of an empty room, the bunker library. Behind him...behind him....

He takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. He takes that last step over the threshold, back into the human world.

---

For a moment, Dean stands utterly still, afraid to open his eyes. Then something bumps into him from behind, and he nearly falls. But warm arms are around him, steadying him, and he stops breathing. He knows those arms. He knows that warmth. He...

He turns, and sees Cas looking at him with shining, bewildered eyes.

“D--” he starts, but Dean doesn’t give him the chance to complete the word. He wraps Cas up in a hug that cuts off his breath. Cas returns the hug, but Dean can feel the hesitancy in his touch, and his heart sinks.

Reluctantly, far too soon, he draws back and looks into Cas’s face.

“I...the Empty made a deal. To let you leave, but...but not your grace.”

“I know,” Cas says. His eyes are less confused now, filled with something else instead. Something like...hurt?

“Thank you for coming for me,” he says. “I know you don’t want me to stay, and I understand, but still--”

“Now just hold on a second,” Dean interrupts. “What do you mean, I don’t want you to stay? Are you serious? Cas, why do you think--”

“Because,” Cas interrupts in his turn, and it feels like things are spinning out of control here, like they’re both rushing toward some awful conclusion that neither of them wants. Dean’s head is spinning.

“Because you...you never turned around. The entire time, you wouldn’t even look at me. I understand...what I said, just before...I knew when I said it. I just.”

Cas isn’t making any sense, and then he’s making perfect sense even as his words grow more jumbled and trail off into nothing. A fresh surge of rage sweeps through Dean. Rage at every high-and-mighty primordial piece of shit that has ever played with him, with Cas, with Sam, just for the fun of watching them bleed.

“That...” He’s so angry he can barely speak. “He said if I turned around you couldn’t leave. He said if I said a word, touched you, anything...you’d be stuck there forever. He said I had to take it on faith that you...that you...”

That you loved me enough to follow me, he can’t quite bring himself to say. But understanding had dawned on Cas’s face, replacing the hurt with a wash of anger to match his own.

“The Empty said that I could leave, but told me...they said there was nothing for me here. That I should think long and hard about whether it wouldn’t be less painful to just...to go back to sleep.”

“Sonofabitch set us up to fail,” mutters Dean. But it’s dawning on him: they didn’t fail. They made it out, both of them. Cas is here. He’s alive.

But something in his eyes is still wrong, and Dean realizes what it is with a burst of insight that leaves him reeling again. Uncertainty. Cas still doesn’t know how he feels, where they stand. Because he, Dean, waited too damn long to tell him.

He can’t take revenge on the Empty for all the pain they caused, but this...this, he can fix.

“Cas,” he starts. “What you said to me...before you...”

Cas doesn’t answer. Doesn’t rush to correct or negate or reaffirm. He just gazes at Dean with that same look on his face. That looks that says I’m happy just to stand here and love you, even if it hurts that you don’t love me back.

And that breaks something in Dean. Some dam or wall disintegrates, and he finds himself reaching out to pull Cas in with both hands, so close that their faces are almost touching.

“You were so convinced,” he says. “That you could never have me. Don’t you understand?” He’s pleading again, and he doesn’t stop to think about what it says that his pride falls away completely when it comes to Cas. “Don’t you get that you deserve so much better than me?”

Cas’s hands close over Dean’s where they’re knotted in the lapels of his coat. There’s so much right there, naked and open in his eyes. Dean almost can’t bear it. Dean never wants to look away.

“Don’t you understand,” Cas echoes softly. “That you are the one I choose?”

Dean lets out a sound that might be a sob, or might be a laugh. He doesn’t know. He just knows that Cas--his best friend, his savior in so many ways, and so much more--is here. He’s here, and there’s no puppet master looming over their heads, waiting to spring the next trap.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s ridiculous, how easy it slips out. It could have been this easy, he thinks distantly, all along. But he pushes that aside. They left regret behind them, in the vastness of the Empty.

Cas’s eyes are shining, with tears but also now with joy. And Dean knows that everything else is going to work itself out. They will work it out.

Together.

#supernatural #spn fix-it #spn fic #destiel #destiel fic #y'all i wrote this in the feverish hours of the morning of spngate on my phone #all mistakes can be attributed directly to the motherfucking cw for their bullshit and wblatam for their glorious dubbing decisions #lizawords

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naruhearts · 5 years ago

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Destiel in 15x03: “WHY DOES THAT SOMETHING ALWAYS SEEM TO BE YOU?”

CAS: You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me.

CAS: My powers are failing. I’ve tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don’t wanna hear it. You don’t care. I’m...dead to you. You still blame me for Mary?

[DEAN tilts head; says nothing]

CAS: Well I don’t think there’s anything left to say.

[CAS turns to walk away]

DEAN: Where’re you going?

CAS: Jack’s dead. Chuck’s gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.

Cred: @xSimply_Mishax

- - - - - -

Me:

OH MY GOSH!!

I hope to get a full 15x03 review going next week after my Pharmacology quiz Monday, so I’m copying and pasting my sloppy thread from Twitter again--

Y'all can look at that scene as platonic or shitty storytelling, and your feelings are entirely valid, but in my humble opinion, this friggin' scene, right here, peeps...QUALITY PERSONAL STORYTELLING. A PUNCH IN THE NARRATIVE GUT!! Close friends — deep platonic friends — don't experience such an extreme magnitude of intense pain, hurt, and confrontation re: tangled and complicated feelings. The intentional sombre ambience, with bright harsh lighting conveying the harsh nature of Dean and Cas’ current relationship? Cas walking away, subverted from 4x20 The Rapture, YES @castielslostwings, in which Dean’s (and Cas’) ultimate failure to use their words broke them irreparably (temporarily)? Cas internalizing his duty-bound calling to Heaven and splitting up with Dean at the end of 4x20 while, at the same time, experiencing his fall from grace re: Dean Humanity Winchester’s influence; then, in paralleling contrast to 15x03, he leaves Dean behind again, this time completely devoid of any positive self-process and hope upon the false knowledge that Dean hates him and no longer wants anything to do with him? The framing between Dean and Cas, with a single table and lonely lamp, once upon a time fixtures of comfort and discussion, exposing the isolation they both feel (not to mention Dean’s holding his own cup of booze — the typical cue that he’s going to cope badly)?

*clutches chest*

Sam was, since last season, easily able to realize (purposely able, in part because unlike Dean, he has a platonic relationship with Cas which allows him to use his RATIONAL judgement, not clouded by strong emotions) that Cas had NOTHING TO DO with Mary's death.

This explosive ROMANTIC breakup between Dean and Cas specifically -- Sam locked away in his room a la S12/13 era grieving!Dean -- was the culmination of YEARS of messy feelings and unsaid emotions; Dean, fearing that what he has with his family — with CAS, isn't real — finally drove Cas to the edge. It was the only common (TERRIBLE) way Dean knew how to protect himself from getting hurt again. Most of all, by driving Cas away, he thought he was protecting both of them.

I mean, DEAN HAD UNSHED TEARS IN HIS EYES THE ENTIRE TIME. WHEN HE SAW CAS WALK AWAY — as he tightly gripped the table with his hand — HIS HEART BROKE, alongside the orchestral swell of DEAN’S THEME. THIS SCENE WAS MEANT TO HURT BADLY. IT WAS MEANT TO TEAR THE BOND BETWEEN DEAN AND CAS APART. THIS NARRATIVE IS CANON. BOBO EXECUTED IT BEAUTIFULLY, INTERSPERSING DEAN AND CAS' SCENES WITH SAM/ROWENA. They both lost their respective allies. Friends. LOVERS (potential in Sam and Rowena’s case) (jeez louise the visual intercut between both of their scenes!!! My heart’s still pounding.)

So, let's go over this again: if Dean and Cas’ relationship truly is platonic in nature and nothing else beyond that, how come it's not SAM telling Cas he's always the thing that goes WRONG? (Besides the obvious fact that he was preoccupied himself, absolutely shattered over Cas parallel-Rowena’s death, which was a WILLFUL CHOICE ROWENA MADE ON HER OWN?)

How come it's not SAM who still wrongly blames Cas for Mary's death?

(Dean could barely look Cas straight in the eye precisely because he knew that what he said was irrevocably false.)

That's right: we DON'T see Sam treating Cas horribly because SAM ISN'T IN LOVE WITH CAS.

DEAN IS.

It’s the beauty of these structural romantic patterns the underlying cyclic metanarrative’s been spinning us all with!!

THE LOVE DEAN FEELS FOR CAS IS SO IRRATIONAL AND SO TURBULENT AND YET SO RIGHT. IT'S BEEN A ROMANCE TROPE FOR YEARS: BREAK THEM UP FOR A MUCH SWEETER MAKEUP *throws self off cliff 49854985 times*

For now, Dean and Sam lost their closest allies. For now, Dean lost Cas, the most important man in his life, his sunshine, his win, his confidante...his spouse (and I tell you, the negative spaces are SCREAMING here. The subtext is pushing against the wall of text hard in S15). This scene was, for all intents and purposes, a smack-dabb fest of breaking up to pursue the last stretches of individual growth before they reunite to form a stronger unit. Remember, you can’t properly give yourself to another nor love another if you can’t love yourself. At this point, after the phenomenal hurdles of growth they experienced throughout the last 3 seasons, Dean and Cas are close to achieving full self-actualization! Almost there! Final regression before progression!

I mean, we’ve all been saying this for years now, too! THEY MUST USE THEIR WORDS, OR ELSE MISCOMMUNICATION WILL BE THE DEATH OF THEM. Tonight, it finally unfolded. The necessary smiting of their son Jack’s body, then Rowena’s literal death (which I humbly think isn’t permanent at this time for reasons I hope to explain later), offset by Cas’ metaphorical death via his walking out on Dean as a semi-regressed, hopeless shell of himself who thinks he no longer holds any ties — or has any meaningful place — in Dean’s life, shattered Team Free Will (Cas’ quiet “I think it’s time for me to move on” was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard from him in the romantic context of the moment! Dean and Cas’ marital discord/tension was deliberately reaching an ugly peak since 15x01; their relationship encountered its worst Rupture yet. The ep literally encapsulated RUPTURE...the rupture of trust, love, faith, and hope. The writers are highlighting it incredibly well, and I’m sitting here holding my breath!!)

Chuck, the ultimate Big Bad and toxic father figure, was still exerting his oppressive presence despite his physical absence within their dialogue (and tonight’s main plot). His actions in 14x20 led them to this, prying open their deepest insecurities and allowing despair to take over again (Belphegor, significant exposition, expectedly triggered Cas’ fears by referring to his sense of expendability under Sam and Dean’s wing). It’s what Chuck wanted: to destroy the found Winchester family who dared to defy him --> Cas believes he’s unwanted by Dean and has no family. Dean believes he deserves Cas leaving him.

WHAT A MESS!!

CONGRATULATIONS AND HUUGE APPLAUSE BOBO FOR CREATING THE BEST ANGSTY MISCOMMUNICATIVE TROPED-UP EMOTION-CENTERED EP SO FAR FOR THIS FINAL SEASON YET AGAIN!!

No joke. I shed some nasty tears, hand cupped over my mouth. The raw anguish of Jensen and Misha’s chemistry radiated off the screen!!

RATING: 10/10

Things must get worse before they get better, and Dabb & Co know it. (I’m cautiously optimistic, and I’m one of the annoying positive believers who do not think Cas is going to die at the end of this show. It simply would be the bottom-line crap cop-out for him and TFW as a collective. We shall see!!)

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jay-and-dean · 5 years ago

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Black Hole

Dean x Reader

Summary : She saved his life, and since then, she doesn’t want to live anymore... That doesn’t make sense...

Warnings : ANGST, like massive angst, mourning, mention of depression, thoughts about suicide and if miscarriage is a big issue for you, avoid this fic. Blood and hurt!Dean, hurt!Reader. SMUT, unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this). Fluff.

Words : 9.3k

Note : This is written is both Sam’s Pov and Reader’s Pov. Dream/flashbacks in italics. Hope you like this one, it was a lot of work <3

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

______________________

Sam's Pov, Thursday

What fucking happened down there...

Hearing the calls in the nurse’s office just next door I sigh. The white lights of the hospital corridor burn my exhausted eyes. People come and go, passing by me with sad, kind looks.

It's weird place, a hospital, especially in intensive care. Everyone standing here is either losing someone they love, has just lost them, or is hoping, praying, not to. They try to hold on to usual things, like buying a coffee from the vending machine, telling the person with them they miss a few coins, but they will give it back...

They will give it back...

Like anything like that mattered when the doctor can show up any moment, to tell you that you lost your wife, dad, kid... brother.

Most of the time, they are not alone, and a sad smile appears on my face at the affection everywhere. Those friends there, they are hugging every five minutes, like the heat of each other's body could keep them safe, like puppies.

But I am…

Alone.

And I'm not losing someone, I'm losing two. The two most important people in my life, the only people that could actually warm me with their hugs.

My brother, and the woman that I call my best friend, but that became like a sister to me, like a mother too when she watches what I eat or checks on the least tiny cuts I have twice a day. A tender smile appears on my face thinking of her protective tone.

Of course, unlike those families around me, Death is one of my oldest friends. But if I lose them both. Really nothing is left.

We were investigating a case, like we always do, a simple, missing person case. Nothing frightening for us, nothing worse than what we often had. We were having fun and I could even say that we were all pretty happy.

Difficult to say for sure, because Y/n never talks about her feelings, hiding them to the world like she was afraid someone could use it to break her, or like she was ashamed.So, either she’s on the verge of tears -that never fall anyway- or dancing, she’s always just says she’s “Okay”.

But she was annoying Dean all the way to Arizona, singing her songs loud in the car, living the lyrics with her whole body, kneeling on the seat to sing in my grunting brother’s ear, opening the windows to let half her body out of the car, her arms like hugging the rays of sunshine, putting her feet on the dashboard to feel the sun on her legs, making fun of me for trying to read about the case instead of relaxing... And it really looked like happiness to me.

And Dean, the annoyed frown he tries to keep on his face when she’s doing all she can to make him crazy couldn’t last more than a few seconds, he was smiling. Smiling with his radiant hopeful smile. The one he had lost, the one she made come back. She has that effect on him, on us. Like we had been missing an annoying little sister to be finally happy...

Then Y/n disappeared. How could that happen ? Dean and I looked for her under every rock, desperate and fighting each other, our fragile bubble of joy blowing up just like that.

We couldn't sleep and Dean blamed himself and me.

Then... he disappeared too.

Probably one of the longest nights of my life, like the night after my brother went to Hell, like the night after Jess's death.

They were found the day after in an alley of Phoenix, half dead from totally different wounds.

She was holding him tight, bathing in his blood, covering his body with hers and his face with one hand. Probably to protect him from the burning sun, the docs told me...

Her other hand was on his gun wound, like she had been pressing on it. She clearly did all she could to save him. But he was in aseptic shock...

She has lost so much blood, the doctor said it's impossible that she could have stand, she was severely dehydrated and had anemia... Yet, she's the one that dragged them out of the building.

My phone rings, waking me from my daydream.

"Agent Bonham ?" the police officer says on the phone.

"Yes."

"I have the videos from inside of the basement. It's pretty weird, I'll send it to you. That colleague of yours, she's a real wolf ! I hope she wakes up..."

"Thank you agent" I state, hanging up.

Still no news from Cas...

I grab my laptop and headphones. Tell me what happened there...

Reader's Pov, another time.

My eyes roam the library. When I finally find him, a wide smile automatically appears on my face. He smiles back. This wrinkled radiant smile that always makes my enamored heart melt.

Walking his way to me, he keeps staring right at my face and I bite my lip. The second he reaches me, his arms are around me.

"I missed you" he says.

"In only half an hour ?"

"You know I did."

His lips find my cheek, and linger here like they do when they can't reach their favorite places, because we're in public.

"You two are so cute, it's almost disgusting" Donna laughs and I can feel Dean's lips turning to a smile against my skin.

"We're adorable" he hums.

My pride is radiating of me, I know that, I also know I should let go of him from time to time, but I don't care what people think. I have no idea how I could be so lucky, I don't even remember how I got there, how he fell in love with me after all those years ; but I stopped caring about that a long time ago.

I look up to see his face. One year soon. It will be one year that my life is in order.

My Dean is mine, he said forever.

"What do you say, we find a more private place ?" he whispers.

"More private ? this is our home baby... More private than our secret bunker ?" I chuckle slipping the back of my index under his shirt like I often do, just to feel the very soft skin of his waist.

"Yeah like our bedroom..."

"Our friends came across the country to see us" I whisper, pointing at Garth with my chin.

"Yeah... And they saw us... They won't miss us if we disappear like an hour" he purrs close to my ear, his hips moving closer to make me feel him growing hard through his jeans.

I take a deep inhale, enjoying his smell and the hoarse sound in his voice.

"I guess..." I smile.

Sam's Pov, Thursday.

�� The black and white images show nothing for a few hours, according to the clock on it, so I accelerate them. When Dean appears, he's holding his gun, moving quickly to the next room, the one with no cameras.

The room where Y/n was kept, a room where they found the DNA of all the missing people, but no lead to the killer.

Then nothing for about an hour, until the door opens again.

It's her. Barely standing, dragging Dean, already unconscious. She's struggling so hard it's painful to see, falling heavily on the floor, she starts to sob, and I can hear her whines of despair and pain even through the mute video.

She crawls on him and tries to press on his wound, bending to talk close to his ear. That's when I realize she's trying not to make too much noise. She's so gentle with him, so cautious. She's holding him, putting light kisses on his forehead and saying things. To him ? To herself ? Prayers ?

Even on the black and white images, I can see how pale she is. Panting and her eyes rolling when she moves too fast.

She manages to drag him more, to the foot of the iron stairway that leads out, and makes a pause. She takes off her flannel, struggling with every movement she makes, like it was the one move impossible to do. She slips it under him and tie it around him, to slow the bleeding.

Then she seems to give up. Sitting behind him, she takes his head on her lap and starts to sob, one hand on his cheek, the other on her eyes. Her lips finally form a word I can read : Sorry. Then another one : Dean.

Sorry, Dean... Sorry.

A tear rolls on my face at her despair, at this incredible battle she's fighting against renouncement. I am so grateful she's so strong.

After only a few minutes clinging at his shirt on his bloody chest, crying and putting her crackled lips on his forehead and temples, she moves again. She would have given up if she was alone, but leaving Dean... She's just has stubborn as we are.

She fails getting up three times. And when she manages standing, she starts to drag my almost 200lbs brother on the first step of the stairs...

It takes two hours before she reaches the door outside of which we found them. Two hours that I have the chance to watch in accelerate... She didn't. She suffered and struggled beyond her own limits...

And now, after giving everything in her to save Dean, she won't wake up.

I get up and walk to my brother's room. Sitting on the corner with a stupid coffee I got from this stupid vending machine ; I had the change, no one could have given coins to me anyway…

I look at him so pale, under those hose and tubes, dialing Cas number again.

“Cas, please, I don’t know if you got my 21 other messages… I’m just… Dean is… maybe he will live, but Y/n… They say she might not... It’s like she had given up… You don’t hear my prayers… You don’t hear your phone… I… Call me back.”

If they die…

Suddenly, Dean starts to choke, the tubes in his throat making it impossible to breath. His arms search everywhere in panic, the machines ringing.

“HELP ! HELP !” I call, reaching him.

Reader’s Pov, another time

He’s panting, sweaty, his elbow holding his body, his head in his hand. I reach a drop of sweat rolling on his temple and wipe it with a lazy smile.

“You…” his breathing is short. “You know how to cheer me up.”

I bend my neck a little to kiss his chin, happy to see the worry gone from his face.

“Cas didn’t mean it, Dean… You were a little hard on him and… you know he does his best…”

He sighs and kisses my lips, his heavy breathing tickling me from his nose.

“I’m sorry I get so angry” he whispers, his hand finding my breast again, massaging it slowly and bending to put a wet kiss on it.

“I know you by heart… You often confuse hurt and sadness with anger, baby, it’s because you had to be so strong so young…”

“Mh… I’m just a stubborn jerk” he opens his mouth to suck at the delicate skin under my breast, moving to place himself between my legs again. “But you always find a way to make it sound cool” he chuckles, wiggling to spread my thighs with his hips.

“Literally everything is cool about you Dean” I kiss his shoulder and lift my knees, giving him the access he seeks : home.

“I’ll talk to him” he nibbles at my swollen lips. “Mh… We made a mess.”

I smile, my hands trying to rub is sweaty back, but sticking on his skin. He’s half hard again, his soft cock snuggling between my soaked, dripping with cum, folds.

“You want it again Dean ?”

“Little Dean can’t get enough, but if you’re tired of me, I can go take a shower and let you sleep” he murmurs, already biting at my ear, his huge body caging me in that way I love so much.

“I’m never tired of you, Love” I state. “I will never be… I need you baby, come home…”

He pushes in slowly, with more ease than the first two times, but less hunger. He’s not fully hard yet, and he’s in no hurry.

This is not about pleasure like the first time was ; this is not about passion, like the second. This is just about being together.

“Good because I’ll never leave you” he hums, pushing deeper, his powerful hand finding my jaw in a possessive but smooth way.

Sam’s Pov, Friday

Dean’s walking painfully, holding to his IV stand because I forbid him to rip it off of him, he needs the ABs, the doctor said ; he needs it or he will die…

“Son of a bitch” he grunts. “Why did they put her so far from my room…”

“Easy Dean…” I try to slow him.

I know he’s worried, terrified even, but what he will find in this room won’t help him. And he doesn’t know yet how much this will hurt.

He finally enters the room and stops. Here it is, the heartbreak.

“Oh God, Y/n…” he grunts, getting closer to her broken body.

She’s pale as snow, her lips so white it looks like she was dead. Her body is covered in bruises, her cheeks hollow, her under eyes light purple…

He gets closer and his shaky hand barely dares touching her face.

“She almost died of exhaustion, of blood loss, and of dehydration and hunger… The mystery is, even with the water and vitamins… She doesn’t come back, like she had given up, her organs are shutting down” I murmur, knowing every word I say is killing him.

“Given up ?” he shakes his head. “She loves life ! Y-you know her Sammy !”

I nod. I had about the same reaction when the docs explained it. And I tried talking to her… But she keeps getting worse and worse...

“What happened Dean ?” I dare now the doctors stopped giving Dean pills to sleep, because of how restless he was.

He sits on the chair next to her bed in a grunt.

“It’s a Djinn” he sighs. “I found her and… she was tied to this bed, being freaking bled. And before I could reach her, the bastard showed up and… I was ready to fight him but, there was another one, and he used my own gun to shoot me” his eyes search her face, like he had no idea what happened next. “I passed out… If I…”

“You couldn’t know” I try, knowing my brother is listing all the things he could have done different in his head.

Reader’s Pov, another time

I get out of the shower and put a towel around me as I can. Taking cream to put it on my hands and face before I walk to my bedroom.

Entering it, I smile.

Dean is listening to music, his headphones on his ears, his toes dancing at the top of his crossed feet.

I close the door behind me and it makes a violent gunshot sound. I jump a little, looking back at the door making such a loud unexpected sound but everything seems right. Maybe my mind is just playing tricks.

He opens his eyes and smiles, not taking the headphones off yet. So I walk to the end of the bed, putting only one of my knees on it. I let the towel fall.

His pupils dilate, it always does. And even now, I can feel his love for my body irradiate of him. Just like I can see his love for me when we’re just talking, when I support him, when I make fun of him, even when we’re apart…

I like that he still wants me so bad when even I struggle to recognize my own body. With those stretch marks on my lower belly, with the light blue veins appearing on my breasts. I put my arms on the side of my body and wait for him to move.

“I did that” he purrs, putting his headphones on the side of his bed, and moving closer.

“You did… And without my consent” I smile when he puts a loving hand on my stomach.

“Nature did things good” he sighs, putting a kiss on my swollen belly. “Because I would have never dared asking, and you never would have agreed.”

“I would have agreed to anything for you, you know that” I smile, my hand in his hair.

“Do you regret it sometimes ?” he frowns, his scruff tickling the side of my baby bump.

“Regret ?” I look down, pulling slightly at his hair to make him look up. “Baby… You wanted to be a father, I would have had regrets hearing that when we are old and you never said it.”

“I thought it couldn’t happen in this life, and you made it pretty clear that kids weren’t your thing” he sighs.

“It can, Dean, it will be complicated, but our little Bean will be loved so much… That’s all that matters, right ?” I smile tenderly. “And carrying your child, my love… It’s just natural to me” he puts his large hands on my lower back and starts massaging it softly. “And…” I chuckle. “Let’s be honest, with all those coming deep inside of me… even with birth control… it was going to happen…”

Suddenly, a groan that sounds like Dean echoes behind me and I look back with a frown.

“What is it baby ?” he asks, looking where I’m staring.

But nothing seems anormal until I hear another whine, a pained one, and a beg of my name.

“Did you hear that ?” I ask, but my Dean frowns and shrugs.

“What Y/n ?”

“It’s like you were… in pain ?” I say, knowing how weird it sounds.

“I’m really good, maybe you need rest, baby” he assures me, getting up.

But goosebumps appear along my spine. Something is wrong, maybe something supernatural.

“Y/n… Please Sunshine… wake up…” I hear but Dean’s lips are not moving.

“Sunshine ?” I repeat, confused. “I remember that nickname…”

“Baby, are you okay ?” my boyfriend worries.

“You used to call me Sunshine” I state.

“Yes” he nods. “Now I call you baby. Do you miss it ?”

“When did you stop ?” I frown, searching his face.

“I don’t remember, baby” he sincerely answers and something cold hits my skin.

“Me neither…” I search his beautiful face. “I liked this nickname…”

“I can call you that all you want, Sunshine” he says and I frown.

It doesn’t sound right and… Why are my wrists suddenly bruised ?

I put my hand on my belly in a protective gesture, trying to calm for the sake of the little Winchester treasure growing inside of me…

Sam’s Pov, saturday

The doctor keeps explaining how her liver is shutting down for no reason, and I can see the look in Dean’s eyes.

He’s standing straight. His body strongly holding him, when his soul is clearly crumbling. Cas still didn’t answer and there is now no chance medicine can save her.

They advised us to say goodbye.

And once more… How absurd it is ?

Saying goodbye to someone you’re not ready to let go, and when ? In a few minutes ? Hours ? Days ? What if we say goodbye and she lives another week. I’m dizzy, and I have no idea how to be there for my brother, when the world is crashing down around me, I don’t know this kind of hell, this absurd, chaotic hell.

How do people do that ? Say goodbye to people still alive… Loosing someone slowly with the hands in the pockets and that stupid bleach scent mixed with bad coffee.

“I WILL KILL HIM !” Dean yells the second the doctor closes the door to give us some space.

“Dean…” I try but he is clenching his fists so hard his knuckles are white.

“I will find a way… I will…”

“Dean…” I repeat, knowing he could slaughter all Heaven’s angel if it bought her back right now.

“No Sammy, you don’t understand… I… I would sell my soul if it was still an option… I… I need to…” he puts both his hands on each side of his head, struggling to think though panic.

“Don’t say that please” I whisper. “I can’t lose the two of you.”

“Sam, Dean” Cas suddenly appears.

And before I can register his presence, Dean jumps on him.

“She could have DIE !” my brother yells pushing him against the wall violently.

“Dean !” I try to grab him by the shoulder but his rage makes his stronger than he usually is.

“Dean… I came as soon as I can…”

“WHAT WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN HER” Dean yells and I try to hush him.

“I was held prisoner, Dean… How could you thing I wouldn’t come right away for Y/n” Castiel grunts, his voice low and for a short while, they just search each other face, like they were trying to decide what to think.

Dean lets go of the angel and eyes him from head to toe.

“What happened ?”

“I fell in a trap” Cas sighs. “I handled it.”

“Cas… Please” my brother’s voice suddenly breaks, a big single tear falling heavily on his hospital clothing ; because, well, we all know what’s under his anger…

I stay where I am, watching my angel friend walk to her bed, a poignant guilt strangling me. Why an angel in her room, and not next door…

Dean doesn’t seem to care about that right now, his insisting eyes going from the angel to our Y/n with a mix of hope, impatience and terror.

When Castiel frowns, Dean grabs is arm strongly.

“What is it, Cas ?” he grunts.

With two fingers on her forehead, the angel frowns, even grunting in effort.

“What…” I take a step forward, something seems wrong.

“She’s… She’s fighting me” Cas states, his light finally bathing her.

“Fighting you ?” Dean gasps.

The angel takes his hand away and nods with a strange light in his eyes, something sad, or sorry. Something worrying.

“I healed her body but… her soul is…”

“Her soul ?” Dean asks, a whine of despair hidden in his voice.

“She didn’t want to heal… The damages are unexpected. Her heart is broken” Castiel states.

“Her heart ?” I start but she moves and Dean bends on her.

“Y/n ? Sunshine ? Do you hear me ?” his eagerness hurts me deep, what if we can’t fix her ?

She slowly opens her eyelids and he smiles to her but she looks away, her eyes empty.

“Y/n ?” he tries. “Are you in pain ? Talk to me.”

“No” she states weakly, her voice hoarse.

He bends to put a kiss on her head but she doesn’t react. No corner smile with her hand on his cheek as she always does.

She just doesn’t move at all.

Reader’s Pov, Saturday evening

They finally left.

I let the burning tears run on my face. I’m not really crying just… letting them fall at last, overflowing.

The hole in my chest feels like it is devouring everything around me, like a black hole ; and I’m not even trying to hold myself together anymore. Dean is safe... I should just have died.

The room ceiling is the only distraction I need, the nurse offered TV, Sam offered his laptop… Why would I want to see what happens in the world ? Don’t they know ? It doesn’t matter anymore, the Sun can stop rising in the morning, what’s the point ?

Someone, something, life, fate, whatever… ripped my heart out and I realize now that the novels were lying. Having their heart shattered, it’s not romantic or beautifully dark, this kind of shit… It’s not about crying with ice cream on the lap, it’s not about listening to sad music…

That hole, it’s just a cold, cruel, lonely emptiness.

It’s despair.

I dare sliding my fingers on my flat belly, and the hole grows the size of the Universe. My little Bean is gone, my tiny miracle vanished and the man I love is not even here to hold my hand.

The man I love… He never existed. Dean is alive, the strong man I fell in love with, the hero I worship from afar, he will live.

But my Dean… The man who loved me, the one who built me, moments after moments, my partner, my best friend, my lover… He’s dead. I will never see him again, touch him again, hear him calling me baby.

And I didn’t even say goodbye.

I flatten my hand on my stomach, wallowing in the absence, because it’s a way to channel the pain. He never put a baby in me. His cum never invade me, driven by love, to force the ultimate marking on my devoted body. Our genes never danced together to create a whole new generation of Winchester.

I will never know if baby Bean will have his eyes after all.

It all never happened…

Yet for me it did, I lived a year in that perfect dream. A year with the man I love. A year in my Dean's arms... And I lost it.

My man, and my baby died. And I just don’t want to go on without them.

If at least it was… I don’t know, a car accident, if I had died with them, if anything had a fucking sense.

But fate is laughing at her own cruelty because for me they died, but in this life they just never existed. No one will bring me cake, no funeral, no widow shadow to hide into. And as if it wasn't enough... I have to live with Dean.

Turning on my side, I let the tears fall, torturing myself with the memory of my man holding me from behind to stroke my belly, with the memory of his soft laugh in my ear, of his lips grazing my neck.

I am so cold.

Sam's Pov, monday morning

My eyes stare at the ground while Dean's voice goes louder.

He just can't hear what the doctor is saying, she won't be transferred in psychiatry ; and what does that even mean that her hormones are too high ? She will just heal, he keeps repeating. She just needs to come back home.

The truth is I'm not so sure of that. This life can really be too much, and Y/n, she doesn't eat, she barely talks. She seems broken beyond what just time can heal... I remember what it is like to be locked inside myself, and I know that Dean, with all his willingness, won't be enough this time.

"She's coming home !" he states, and the doctor warns him.

"Please, if she doesn't eat, or if she shows suicidal risks, bring her back."

My eyes stare at the floor, still, when Dean is talking to her, telling her he won't let her alone here, and that he will bring her home, with her stuffs, in her room.

But some tears fall on her face at those last words and I can't help wondering what happened to her, what did the Djinn showed her during those three days, that could break her like this.

My eyes are still in the ground when my brother help her in her bed, after he convinced her to take a shower, hoping it would help. She did, and her eyes are still lost in a void that seem to eat her soul.

When Dean begged, she ate something, she bit in the sandwich he had made with all his affection, and she drank the fresh orange juice he made for her...

But the void is still devouring her, and her eyes are empty and tired, this kind of tired that is not lack of sleep.

Before Dean gets out the room, he smiles at her, a tender and kind smile, and he kisses her temple, swearing he will never leave her. But she doesn't answer.

I finally look at him, when he closes the door and burst in tears like I have never seen him. His back slides on the wall and it breaks my heart in a horrible pain.

"I-I can't..." he says. "Sammy I need her to come back... I need her... please... Please I need her."

I have to sit on the floor to hold my brother in my arms. He's so broken, we all are.

"She doesn't even look at me Sam... I need her..."

Reader's Pov, Wednesday

Will I forget ?

I heard people dealing with mourning struggled to keep memories of the smell, because that's the one thing you can't capture forever. Photos, videos… It can stay forever, yet smell always fades from clothes and sheets eventually.

But I have his smell all around me. No photos of our life together, of our trip to the beach, of that time we took drunk pics in the Dean cave... No videos of his birthday when I made him a giant pie… My phone is empty. But his smell…

His voice I hear every day. I even have those little kisses on my cheeks or temples, but it's not from the man who loved me so much. And I can't borrow one of his shirts to cry on it, he wouldn't understand.

How could I be so stupid ? Thinking Dean Winchester loved me back. And that much ? Like he could love me to the point of carving my name on the table next to him. Like he could trust me with his body like he did. Like he could be happy with me...

Dean. The man that deserves the world and more. A soul so complex, a body so precious. How could a boring girl with an average face and an oversized temper could make his life complete ?

I remember this time he had a bad nightmare, it was just after I found out I was pregnant ; he dreamed that Ben tried to kill the baby, and that he had to shoot him to protect his little Bean. He was sweating in my arms, telling me his dream... And while I was stroking his hair, he opened up about all that, about being a bit disappointed, when Lisa told him he was not Ben's father, about how he struggled with this feeling…

And about what it was, discovering that "normal life" didn't make him happy, after thinking hunting was everything wrong in his life for so long...

This never happened either. Dean never trusted me that much. And he probably didn't feel that way at all, my brain made up this conversation, right ?

How pathetic is it ?

I’m so lost.

Each time I try to focus on parts of it all to not become crazy, I just feel the stab of missing Dean’s kisses so much and how empty my belly is.

I’m so angry at everything. Why was it on me to hear Dean’s screams for help, why was it on me to wake up from my own personal Heaven ? By myself ? To basically kill “my Dean” and his son growing inside of me. Why did I have to do that myself ?

Isn’t it the most cruel thing fate could come up with ?

No one should ! No one should have to choose between love in their life, and the life of the person they love.

Forcing myself out of this was the most painful thing I ever did. And yes, I hate the fucking Universe for making me do this !

Fuck it ! Fuck them ! FUCK EVERYTHING ! I scream in my head, curling up in my bed. That’s so fucking unfair ! This is the one thing I wouldn’t have ignored, the one and only fucking thing !

Dean in danger.

I would do everything for him… Even losing him.

Sam enters the room and I stop sobbing, choking on my tears with the greatest efforts to hold back the screams in my lungs.

“Y/n…” he closes the door behind him and sits on my bed. “It’s been a few days and…”

A few days… You have no idea Sammy.

“Yeah…” I just answer, knowing more words would make the dam break.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened” he sighs. “Probably because of how painful it is… But” his large hand pushes a strand of my messy hair out of my face. “We can help… Please let us at least try, Y/n. Dean is…”

“What ?” I ask a little too fast.

“Dean is not… he’s not okay, Y/n… And I know I have no right to put that on you, because you probably are already fighting the best you can” he sighs and my hand grab the sheets in pain. “You’re our best friend but… Dean he… He needs you…”

“He doesn’t” I whisper, pieces of my broken heart coming out of my throat.

“Please, Y/n… Look into his eyes, listen to his voice, I know you can read him like a book.”

He gets up and sighs, his hand gently lingering in my back.

I want to die.

That is the truth. And the truth is ugly. Since I woke up, I have no will to be alive at all.

I want to join my love, but it is stupid because he is not dead, he just never loved me.

Now I didn’t let everything fall apart to save him, only to make him suffer after. I have two choices : Die from the pain, or focus on Dean.

The real one, the one that never loved me, but who has the undeniable advantage to exist, not just in my head.

I told my Dean… the one that called himself my man, that I could suffer a thousand Hells for him. Well here it is…

It is now.

The first time I command my body to get out of bed, it doesn’t respond. At all.

Why lungs are crushed in my chest, my muscles are sore, my bones seem cold and that black hole…

I will have to live with that black hole, but I couldn’t live with making Dean suffer in any kind of way. He already lost so much, he won’t lose me.

Sam’s Pov, Wednesday evening

Dean’s eyes are glued to the bottom of his glass of whiskey. He didn’t eat today, at least I didn’t see him eat anything… Drink, that, yes.

Each time he finally moves, suddenly restless, it’s because he thinks he found a way to “fix Y/n”.

Spells, fairies, deals, the Goddess of happiness, even a spell that makes you see clearly people’s memory… He explored everything.

But nothing sounds good enough, so he sits back at the table and empties bottles, his eyes red and his skin pale. Thinking at how he could have lost his best friend… Or maybe more.

I see it now, and I’m pretty sure I’m right : Dean loves her. He loves her not like I do.

When I’m about to ask him that, to finally dare suggesting he is in love, to take the risk he will get mad, break things or close up even more…

She enters the kitchen.

She seems so weak standing in the door frame, so broken, her leaner legs pale, discreet light hair growing back on it, her oversized t-shirt falling lazily on her thighs, her hair messy, hiding her tired face.

She’s adorable and I’m pretty sure my brother’s heart is beating so hard it threatens to open his chest.

“Y/n…” he says, getting up to take her arm, afraid she would fall or faint.

He helps her down the stairs and brings her to the table with a tenderness I have never seen him show.

“I’m so glad to see you” I say putting a hand on her arm cautiously. “Do you want to drink or eat something ?”

She looks around, her eyes staring at the bottle of whiskey, then at Dean.

“I… I could use a soda” she murmurs.

I get up and turn around to look at them again, Dean pushes some strands of hair from her face and she looks at him, her eyes full of tears.

When I bring the coke, she’s wiping away some tears.

“Thank you, Sammy” she says, clearing her voice.

Then she takes a sip and a deep breath. My brother has no idea what to say so he stares at her, visibly resisting the urge to take her in his arms.

“I… I’m sorry I w-worry you…” she finally speaks, needing all her strength to talk.

“Sunshine, just tell us how we can help you” Dean states, taking her hand in his.

“Sunshine…” she repeats in a whisper with a big tear falling on the table.

“I-I’m sorry” he frowns. “You used to like this nickname…”

“I do” her voice breaks. “Guys… I… I will need some time… I…” she closes her eyes like she was in great pain. “I lost something… V-very precious to me…” she wipes her face and lift her eyes to my brother. “But I don’t want you to suffer because of me” she whispers, bending to put a loving kiss on Dean’s hand.

He has to use the back of his other hand to stop the tears falling on his face at her gesture.

“Do you want to tell us what you lost, Y/n ?” I ask calmly. “Maybe we can help.”

Reader’s Pov, that same Wednesday evening

“Do you want to tell us what you lost, Y/n ?” I ask calmly. “Maybe we can help.”

I smile through the tears at the irony of his words. And in a reflex, I put my hand on my flat stomach, like I used to do to protect my own little treasure.

“You were…” Sam’s eyes widen. “That’s why your hormonal rates were so weird…”

I look at him and feel Dean’s hand leave mine.

“Sunshine…” I can feel him searching my face even though I’m looking down. “You w-were pregnant ?”

I nod, the black hole in my guts devouring all the light in my vision, as I remember his voice saying “Baby, you’re pregnant ?” in the deep pitch dark of my memory.

“Why didn’t you tell me ?” his voice is shaking. “H-how did you get… I didn’t see you with…”

“Wh-what ?” I shake my head. “No Dean, I…”

He thinks I was really pregnant, and that maybe I lost it because of the blood loss and all. I look up to meet is eyes, somehow finding courage in the green of his iris. Because it’s the eyes of the man I love, it is his eyes, and they make me stronger.

“No Dean… In the…” How am I supposed to call it ? “Dream…”

“Oh…” he says, his eyebrows joining in a pained frown.

“S-so your big dream is to have…”

“No” I cut him. “It’s way more complicated than that. I- For me… It lasted a year. And…”

“A year ?” Sam gasps. “It usually doesn’t… I’m so sorry Y/n…”

My eyes search Dean’s, they’re moving like he was reading something on the table. Then a silence falls on us but I still feel their warm affection.

Just talking to them gives me the little strength I needed to at least try. I missed Dean, just Dean, not only my Dean or anything, but… this amazing man.

If I can’t fake it, if my heart keeps bleeding all over the place and my black hole threatens to touch them, I will just leave. I will lie, saying I found what could help so they worry less, and I will disappear. Cats hide to die, right ?

Reader’s Pov, Friday morning

I tried.

I tried with all is left of my heart.

I got up at least twice a day, showered and ate, tried to talk a little when they checked on me. But the loss is becoming even more real as I’m starting to severely miss Dean’s touches.

The more I find my friend again, the more my boyfriend seems far.

And I miss his kisses, his hands on my back, his nails gently scratching my skin. I miss the way he always randomly grazed my nipples through my clothes, knowing how sensible I am. I miss being able to scratch his scruff, to hold his hand, to kiss his freckles.

I miss his weight on me.

And I miss him inside of me…

Sometimes my hand just goes to him, and I have to stop myself from stroking his cheek or slip my fingers under his shirt.

Dean is just not mine.

As he sits on my bed, I think of those times he crawled between my legs with a smile on his lips.

But he just sits there, with this caution like I could break and the bed dips a little.

Don’t bother I’m already broken.

He looks at me and smiles, a sad expression on his beautiful face behind it. Giving me the sandwich he made, he takes place on the bed, like he does from time to time since I showed up in the kitchen, like he did very often before all of that.

For him it was just a little more than a week ago, the last time he brought food in my bedroom to talk or watch a movie… For me it was more than a year ago. Because I though I was with him, but it was just our bedroom. It was different.

“They say it will be very sunny tomorrow” he states, his usually plumb lips forming a line.

I don’t care about sunny. The only source of light is you.

“Okay” I say, struggling to take a bite of the way to big sandwich.

“Maybe… maybe I could take you for a little ride, see the light a little. You love summer so much” he tries, his low voice falling on me like warm water in the shower.

He made me pregnant in his precious car, our shared cum kink finally winning when once more he came deep inside of me. It was a sunny day too, and his sweat was making his skin slippery as he nuzzled in my neck, groaning as he always did…

“No…” I grunt. “I’m sorry Dean, I’m not…”

And suddenly his fingers graze mine on my stomach, that’s when I notice I was stroking it again.

Stupid.

“Y/n…” he’s weighting his words now. “I have been thinking…” He rubs his neck, his eyes still on his hand touching my fingers. “Don’t… don’t get… offended but… If…” he takes a deep breath and my heart starts racing. “If you want a baby” He closes his eyes. “If it is what you need to be happy again… I… I could give one to you.”

My eyes widen and my breathing stops.

“Wh- what ?”

“I just… I’m sorry, I just thought… Listen. Maybe you want nothing to do with me… But I just… I would totally do that for you, whether you want me to be there after or forget it’s mine forever.”

“Dean…” I take his shaking hand in mine. “It’s not about the baby… I mean… Of course, I had time to… get used to that idea of having a baby… and it’s… yeah, so, so painful. But…” My voice breaks when I realize completely what he is offering me. “It is about the love…”

“Love ?” he almost whispers, holding my hand back in a loving gesture that makes me forget he’s not mine for a split second.

“Yeah…” I state, biting my lips.

“Was your dream like… Apple pie and baby showers ?” he murmurs and it seems like the room becomes smaller, but in the good way, I suddenly feel like in a pillow fort with the man I love.

“No” I chuckle. “You know me… I’m not really the baby shower type, baby… Deanie” I correct myself and the black hole seems to be burning now. But, as he doesn’t react, I continue. “It was just… all the same… the love on top.”

I fake a smile, hoping he won’t read my eyes.

“Oh” he looks up. “Hunting and everything ?”

“Yes, Dean. As you said… I was… I was pretty happy already you know... Sam and you, this adventure life… The only…” a single tear rolls on my cheek and his warm hand wipes it slowly. “I just had this radiant love. And I…” more tears come crushing on his fingers. “I miss him ! I… It’s like I had lost my husband or… All those memories, Dean.”

His eyes are wet, and he bites his lip.

“All those memories they seem so… so real and I have” I’m panting now, the pain crushing my lungs in the same time as talking to him feels like I was finally not so lonely. “I have this huge black h-hole in my heart… And” I start to be shaken by sobs as he takes me in his arms firmly, trying to help me hold together. “I crave his kisses… I-I crave everything s-so much… Everything hurts Dean…”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through” he murmurs giving me the perfect comfort of his body around me, his face against the side of my head. “I’m here, Sunshine… I’m right here.”

That’s when I feel his lips grazing my cheek. I look up and he lets them slowly drift to mine, in a shy move.

My heart misses a broken beat. He licks his perfect mouth and keeps his face so close to mine, the pillow fort is warm now…

“I can give you kisses, and love and even a baby if you want” he says against my lips and I swallow hard. “I know I can’t give you what you lost. But l-let me try to fix what I can fix… Let me fill a little part of this hole in your heart” his lips claim mine like he did this his whole life, so naturally, like kissing me wasn’t an effort at all… Like he wanted this.

And I feel whole for a second.

“Yes” is all I can answer.

His kisses are perfect, and my body react to them so strongly. Goosebumps and heart racing and heat…

His knee bumps mine when he turns on the bed to face me, his hands firmly grabbing my face, fingers in my hair, and his tongue reaches mine.

It’s like I could breathe for the first time after holding my breath for days… And it’s both so new and so natural.

He pushes me on my back, his lips still devouring me, one of his hand only letting go of me to catch us by leaning on the mattress before we crash too fast.

“Dean…” I murmur when his lips let go of mine to kiss my neck.

His smell, his weight, his kisses…

And suddenly, I am ripped out of the dream again : Is he doing this without wanting it at all ?

“Dean… You” I sigh. “You don’t have to do this.”

But he doesn’t stop, and his hungry palm slip under my shirt to rest on my ribs, not daring to touch my breasts just now.

“Dean…” I insist, holding back my moans.

“Mh… let me enjoy this Sunshine.”

My head falls back on the pillow when his tongue tastes the skin of my collarbones.

He never, not once, called me Sunshine when he was making love to me during this year and that feels even better because it’s Dean, it’s not a dream. He is the man I fell in love with.

I struggle a little to put my right leg on the side of his body, spreading my thighs for him. And when I feel his crotch on the thin fabric of my panties, my body bursts in flames.

His hands are everywhere and his mouth covers every inch of my neck. I reach his back, as I always did, to feel his muscles under my fingers, pushing his flannel and shirt up to reach his soft skin.

“You remember that day we danced in the library…” he whispers, his kisses reaching my stomach. “You were a little drunk… I found you dancing with a bottle of whiskey on that cheesy song and offered you a dance.”

I nod, a little moan escaping my lips.

“This was a real memory, Sunshine.”

As I close my eyes, one last tear tickles my temple.

His eager hands lift my oversized t-shirt and put it above my head before throwing it across the room. I’m shaking although I feel unbelievably comfortable with him.

“God you are… Y/n…” he buries his face in my breasts, feasting on it, his strong arms holding me by the ribs, squeezing it strongly.

“I need you inside of me” I admit in a whine, like I did before, even if he never heard it yet.

He groans and sits. With his eyes on me, he grabs the thin fabric of my panties and tries to rip it, failing three times before the fabric gives way, earning a light chuckle from me.

“Skin baby, please” I plea, when he falls back on me like the tall beast he is.

He moans muttering “baby”, like this nickname was turning him on, and takes of his flannel and his shirt with one hand.

In the dream… He did it with two hands, always, and I love that he’s so similar, but yet, that I can’t mistake him with a chimera anymore.

He opens his belt and I arch my back, touching my breasts just to see if he like that as much as he did.

“Oh fuck… Sunshine, you…”

I smile and stretch my arms to reach his lower back, caressing him while he pushes the zipper down.

He clumsily takes off his pants along with his underwear and I gasp at the sigh of his cock. Dean’s velvety length, not just what I imagined…

My hand wraps around it and my folds start dripping. He’s a little wider than my fantasy was… He’s… different. His hand joins mine, encouraging me to grab him firmly.

“You remember when you pushed me in the fountain in Las Vegas, Sunshine ?” he moans, licking his lips.

I nod as his fingers graze my impatient entrance.

“Oh Dean !” sweat breaks through my skin.

“That is…” he moans again, offering a sound perfect enough to shrink the black hole. “That is a real memory too. We have so much great memories…”

His fingers gently press against my entrance, and his thumb strokes my clit like it was in love with it. My walls let him enter and my hips roll desperately.

“And now…” he groans, bending to suck a mark in my neck. “This will be a real memory too. You like that ?”

I cry out when he crooks his fingers inside of me.

“I can give you all the love you can dream of, Sunshine” he whispers in my ear, and before I can register what he’s saying, he takes of his hand, and bring it to his lips to taste me.

“Dean, please.”

He smiles against my lips and wiggles slowly between my thighs.

When he kisses me, the black hole implodes.

Just like that.

Because no kiss was ever so intense, even from the man that loved me back. No kiss was so loving, ever. And when I thought I had the best… Dean shows me once again that he’s better than any dream.

He guides his cock to my entrance and pushes in, kissing me all the way. Even panting, even grunting and shaken by spasms of his hips, he keeps his lips on me.

“I love you…” I mutter under my breath, making him look at me.

“That’s it, Sunshine, take all the love you need” he whispers, putting his face in my neck. “I’ll give you all you need.”

He bottoms out and I could come like this, just feeling him filling me so perfectly, but I hold back, my thighs burning cold in the best way.

His thrusts are shallow at first, but his hunger grows inside of him, and so, it grows inside of me. He’s slow, but his trusts are so deep I can feel him in my belly. And I have no idea where I stops and where I begin, but that has no importance at all.

“I love you” I repeat, knowing now that he’s okay with me saying this like that, knowing he doesn’t think I mean it. “I love you.”

Hands on his butt, I encourage him deeper, like it was even possible, and he bites my shoulder in a growl.

“Let me love you, Y/n…”

My heart races, sending my pleasure-saturated blood everywhere in my body at light speed.

I come so hard my nails dig too hard in his ass cheeks.

“JESUS FUCK !” he cries out when my walls contract so hard around him I fear it might be painful.

And his hand suddenly wraps around my neck, not really squeezing, but holding me firmly while his hips piston at a breaking pace a few times before he fills me in a low growl, his thighs convulsing a little.

The world is spinning and the high is the strongest I felt. My heart just can’t hold back so much love, so, as a drunk teen spitting the name of their crush… I open my mouth.

“I love you, Dean.”

He sighs and I still can’t see his face, hidden against my skin.

“No, for real… It was you” I whisper, my palm flat on his back, his cock still softening inside of me.

The second he takes to answer is the longest second in the universe. A drop falls on my collarbone and I immediately recognize a tear.

“I’m sorry Dean… Just… Forget that.”

“It was always you too, Sunshine” he finally murmurs. “I love you.”

Sam’s Pov, Monday evening

Dean holds her from behind, his hips swaying a little on the Led Zeppelin song she chose to cook.

She’s laughing at his clumsy movements, trying to hit him with a spoon when he puts his finger in the dough she’s making.

And I remember when he started to call her Sunshine…

It was a sad day of winter, it was raining for days but she woke up excited by this idea she had, to buy a pop-corn machine for the bunker, as we could only watch movie lately.

She was poking him with her finger, to annoy him until he agrees to let her bring it with the Impala.

When he finally did, pretending to be grumpy, she left running, to get clothed, and he turned to me.

“Who needs sunny days when you live with a freaking ray of Sunshine like that” he said.

Now I think of it, he was telling me he was in love with her.

______________________

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 5 years ago

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Shackled Chapter 10

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME.

Warning: Show level violence, implied loss of family, grieving, depression, spiraling, cursing, mentions of Demon!Dean, emotional manipulation, mind fuckery, psychological manipulation, questioning one’s sanity, emotional exhaustion, suicide attempt, mention of previous suicide attempt.

Word Count: 3165

Author’s Note: Please read the warnings. PLEASE read the warnings. Thanks to @cracksinthewalls for the mega beta. Also, please read the warnings.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In case you missed it: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 Masterlist

Chapter 10

Miriam didn’t know how long she’d been sitting on the bedside, staring at the gun clenched in her nerveless fingers. How did she get here? She'd been standing in front of Dean, reeling from the terrible truths he’d forced her to face, and then she found herself here.

In the unfamiliar, anachronistic setting of her room in the bunker, no sound except the barest whisper of the air system, Miriam was blurry and out of focus. She couldn’t feel the bed beneath her legs, the freezing floor under her feet.

Was she even awake?

Doesn’t matter, she thought. Everything he’d said was true. He had seen right through every one of her denials and shattered all of her self-crafted delusions. She had failed everyone and everything of consequence to her. At this point, it no longer mattered how or why. She had nothing left but the pain.

She took in a slow, shaking breath through her nose, let it out through her mouth.

Setting him free was out of the question. She wasn’t going to beg him, compromise the last shred of self she had left making a devil’s bargain, and he knew it. Dean was right. She had one choice left to make, one more chance to get it right.

One way out.

She stood, legs moving of their own accord, and crossed the small room. She rested the gun on the rim of the sink, staring down at her fingers as they gripped the cold metal. One more breath, in then out, and she looked up into the mirror.

Aaron’s face looked sorrowfully back at her. She drank him in, the rip of his loss tearing deeper. Her empty hand traced the lines of his forehead, his cheekbones, the nose their family had inherited from generations back on her mother’s side. When she met his gaze, she saw tears in his eyes as he raised his palm, and she pressed her hand to the image of his.

Her mind flashed back suddenly, and she was standing not in the bunker but in the rundown motel room she and Aaron had rented for that last hunt. She’d come back two weeks after his funeral with the desperate idea that she could find something he might have imprinted on, some object holding his spirit so she could conjure him, tell him to his face she knew how badly she’d messed up.

That she was sorry.

She’d stared into the mirror for hours, and he had stared right back, but she knew in her heart it wasn’t really her brother. The despair had swelled, risen to a crescendo, and she’d raised the gun, placed it to her temple, gone so far as to cock her weapon. She stood, shaking, staring in the mirror until her nerves and her hand failed her.

When the sun rose the next day, she unloaded her gun, shoved it to the bottom of her duffel, and didn’t look at it again until nearly a year later when Sam Winchester called in her blood debt.

Failure upon failure.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her own face was wet, cold, but she kept her hand pressed to the glass. “I love you.” Then Aaron was gone, and she was left in the empty room, her stricken reflection gazing back at her. Alone.

Yeah, that makes sense, she thought. One last breath, in then out. I can do this. One last chance to get it right.

She raised the gun.

Before she could draw back the hammer, a hand shot across her field of vision, closing around her wrist and pulling her around. The gun fell from her grip as she reflexively shoved at her attacker. She jerked to the side, her lips drawing back in a desperate snarl, and struck with her free hand again.

“Miriam, stop! It’s me!”

Sam’s frantic voice reached her through a storm of anguish, and she stilled in his grasp. He kept his hold on her forearm, his face flushed with confusion and dismay. They stared at each other, panting, for a long, loaded pause before Sam finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Maybe he was apologizing for leaving so much out before asking this of her. Maybe he was apologizing for asking this of her at all. Maybe he was expressing empathy at her whole situation. Whatever the reason, Miriam’s heart began to calm at his words. Her expression must have relaxed because Sam’s shoulders slumped as he let out a breath and released her arm.

“I called to check in before the priest started his ritual, and your phone went straight to voicemail. I got back here as fast as I could. What-”

Miriam drew back her fist, catching Sam across his cheek, snapping his face to the side. She felt this punch like she hadn’t felt any of the times she hit Dean, and it shocked her arm all the way up to her shoulder. It hurt like hell, and she felt relief spreading through her abdomen.

“We need to talk.”

Sam straightened and turned back to her, his face comically stunned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before clamping his lips shut. His eyes clenched shut, and he sucked in a steadying breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand. Then he opened his eyes and gave her a tense, tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah. We do. Hungry?”

…

Neither of them knew the best place to start, so, as they began assembling some sandwiches, Miriam simply began updating Sam on everything that had gone down since his departure. She figured there wasn’t much point in hiding anything that had happened; Dean would probably tell Sam anyway, if for no other reason than to get under both their respective skins.

Recalling the order of events was difficult, she realized, and when she added up how little time had actually passed, she was shocked.

It felt like at least a week, she thought.

Sam managed to hold his tongue through her entire recounting, though his face had gone through the full spectrum of reds and purples when she’d told him about the nightmares. When she got to her very last encounter with his brother, Sam nearly cut off his finger along with the cheese he was slicing.

The choking noise coming from his mouth didn’t do anything to alleviate her concern.

After he caught his breath and chugged down the glass of water Miriam provided, he and Miriam moved over to the long table, sitting side by side. Miriam didn’t know about Sam, but she didn’t particularly feel like making eye contact with the younger Winchester just now, even if his coloring was gradually returning to normal.

Though both of them needed the fuel, neither Sam nor Miriam seemed particularly inclined to eat.

“Your turn,” Miriam said, unable to stand yet another bout of long, uncomfortable silence. “You left me with zero clue and almost as little prep. What the hell, Sam, you and I are supposed to be the smart ones. What’s going on with Dean? This ritual?”

Sam’s eyebrows lowered, and he straightened, all set to put her off or argue, but he was cut off by the slam of her fist on the table. Their plates clanged, jittering dangerously close to the edge.

“Dammit, Sam, my life is literally on the line here! I don’t care about your bruised pride, I don’t care about your stupid secrets. You called me here, you exposed me to that demon with barely any warning at all. Tell me the truth, and don’t you dare try to bullshit me.”

She watched the wind drain from Sam’s metaphorical sails. His shoulders slumped as he propped his forehead up in his good hand.

“You’re right, of course you’re right. I’m sorry. Let me just...Okay, yeah. But it’s gotta be a summarized version, otherwise we’ll be here all night.”

He offered her a fragile half-smile, and though she didn’t return it, she relented enough to drop her scowl.

“A while back, Dean got something called the Mark of Cain. Yes, the mark on his arm, and yes, the Cain. From the Bible. Long story very, very short. It ate away at him. Made him want, need to hurt, to kill. There was this old weapon, the First Blade, and we needed it to end this huge threat. And then…He...Dean died. I brought him back here, carried him…”

His voice trailed off, his lips working hard as his neck and shoulders tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Miriam reached out, tentatively laying her hand on his arm. He huffed out a sharp breath and continued.

“And then he came back, but as a demon. He took off with...another demon, and they were gone for weeks. I hunted him, I never gave up on him. I...did some really terrible-”

Sam stopped, his lips pressed together so hard they turned white. He steeled himself and looked over, meeting Miriam’s eyes for the first time since they’d started talking.

“I did what I had to, to get my brother back, and I will keep doing exactly that.”

There wasn’t much she could argue against that. She would have preferred more details about exactly what terrible things Sam had done, but Sam’s transgressions were irrelevant to their current situation. He would have to face his own consequences eventually, and her getting the dirty gossip now was not priority.

“So that mark on Dean’s arm more or less turned him into a demon,” Miriam asked, not sure what else to say.

Sam nodded, picking at the crust of his bread. “It was changing him even before he died, but it brought him back. I’m not sure it will actually let him die,” he added.

“And the ritual? How’d you even find out about it?”

Sam looked down at his plate again and sighed. “Okay, again, summary. We needed to cure a demon in order to complete a trial.” He held up a hand to forestall Miriam’s question, and she sighed.

“I told you, here all night. I don’t have that kind of energy right now. Anyway, we found out the Men of Letters had created a ritual to cure a demon without damaging the host body. I had to find a hospital with the right kind of priest, get the blood blessed. There’s a spell, and I have to inject Dean with the blood. It’s not the most pleasant way to spend a weekend, but it’s my only shot to get my brother back now.”

Sam let out his breath, rolling both of his shoulders back with a painful popping noise. He glanced over at Miriam again, chewing on the inside of his lip as if he were struggling with a decision.

“Miriam, I’m sorry. For all of it. I knew about Aaron, I should have thought…I just...It’s Dean, my brother. People are hurt because of me. I hurt...tortured. I tortured a lot of demons, but I had to. I couldn’t-”

“I get it, Sam. I get all of it, even leaving the admittedly big details out. I’m not happy about it,” she added, narrowing her eyes at him. He had the decency to look properly embarrassed. “And you’d damned well better not leave something that vital out again. But, then again, it’s not like I was one hundred percent honest with you, either. If I had been at all smart, I could have told you I was in no shape.”

“How are you now?” he asked. “How are you really?”

“I’m...here,” she answered. “Dean really got into my head, like you said he would, but all that mess was there to begin with. He just...he knew how to stir it all up, knew exactly what to say to get me to react how he wanted. And I did.”

They sat for several moments, lost in the memories of their own transgressions. Sam finally let out a breath and stood. He rested his fingertips on the table, his injured arm fidgeting in the sling. His jaw clenched, tension in every line of his rigid stance.

“Miriam, I don’t know if this is going to work. I’ve only done this once before, and it definitely started to work then, but I didn’t get to finish the ritual. I already gave Dean the first dose before I came to find you, and he reacted differently than I was expecting. It’s going to take several more doses, but...look, I know I have no right to ask anything else of you…”

He trailed off, lips trembling as he pinched them shut. His eyes were shining suddenly, red-rimmed and small, and he looked terribly vulnerable. He glanced up at the ceiling, clearing his throat. Miriam’s heart twisted, and she stood, reaching out to lay her hand on his shoulder.

“We can back each other up,” she said, adding, “but I can’t be alone with him again.”

Sam shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. She continued.

“You need to know I wasn’t magically fixed when you stopped me firing that gun, Sam. I haven’t changed my mind. You need help, and that much I can do, as long as you’ve got my back. But after this, I’m done. With everything.”

Sam’s face was stricken as his fingers tightened around hers. “Miriam, you can’t-”

“It’s not your call, Sam. I’m not your brother; it’s not up to you to fix me.”

Sam flinched as if she’d struck him physically, but she didn’t relent, and eventually, he nodded, though reluctantly. She released his shoulder and busied herself clearing up the food neither of them had been able to stomach after all.

Time to face the music, she thought randomly. At Sam’s questioning glance, she nodded and followed him from the kitchen. They stopped just outside the dungeon, and Sam raised his eyebrows at her.

“Are you sure? After what you and he...you don’t have to go in here. I can…”

“You don’t know exactly what this treatment is doing to him, you said it yourself,” she reminded him. “You’re here now, he’ll have to split his focus. We’re stronger together. Let’s get this over with.”

Sam nodded, steeled himself, and stepped inside. Miriam followed suit; the moment she stepped through the door, though, she could feel a slight but palpable difference. The pull to go to Dean was diminished. The hunger she had to admit she still felt when she looked at him was duller, less fierce.

The demon in question also seemed a little more subdued, a little more cautious. Dean straightened from his tired slump, green eyes narrowing at the two of them. He frowned, evincing disapproval as he clicked his tongue at Miriam.

“You know, when I didn’t hear a gunshot, I thought maybe you’d just found a quieter way to do it. Figured somebody couldn’t possibly be that big a failure at absolutely everything, but here you are.”

Sam busied himself pulling a huge, blood-filled syringe from a cooler on the table as Dean continued to eye Miriam. She picked up the remaining flask from the table, making a mental note to ask Sam if he had more holy water stashed somewhere in the bunker. She unscrewed the cap and turned to face Dean.

“Or maybe you just need another push,” Dean said quietly. His eyebrows lowered as he smiled straight at her, leaning forward earnestly. “I could scratch that itch all day. Get rid of Sammy, here, and we can-”

She flicked the holy water in his face, and Sam went in with the needle as Dean flinched back. Her heart stuttered as Dean cursed and growled in pain, his breath coming in short, distressed bursts. His skin flushed, darker than the last time she’d splashed him. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he thrashed against the ropes, his tendons standing out harshly under his flesh.

“Sam…” Miriam started, but she didn’t know what warning she should give. The draw she felt from Dean was definitely less now, so the blood was doing something to the demon aspect of him. Dean didn’t look like he was being cured of anything, though.

He looked like he needed help.

“I don’t know what else to do but keep going,” Sam whispered, half to himself.

“You could start by letting me out of these goddamn cuffs,” Dean groaned, his head rolling back as he struggled to catch his breath. “You’re killin’ me here, Sammy.”

Sam started towards Dean, but Miriam grabbed his arm. He turned tortured eyes on her, but she shook her head, urging him silently towards the door. Dean might be genuinely in distress, but if what Sam told her was true, they couldn't do anything to help him except continue the treatment.

Sam resisted for one more heartbeat before allowing himself to be led from the dungeon. Miriam resolutely shut the door behind them and turned to Sam.

“You did it. We did it. Now we’ve just got to do it another half dozen times or so.”

Sam snorted, running a shaking hand up his face and back through his hair. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What now?” she asked. A yawn escaped her before she could stuff it down, and Sam paused, taking in her drooping frame and exhausted stance.

“I think somebody could use a nap,” he said with a tired smile. She raised her eyebrow sharply, and he held up his hand in mock surrender. “I know, I know, we both do. We’ll take it in turns. I’ll stay up while you sleep, then swap out.”

She hesitated, torn between the aching exhaustion wearing her down and the fear of what always came when she slept.

“Sam, I don’t want to ask this of you, but I…I already had nightmares, and since I came here, they’ve gotten worse. Could you...god, I feel so pathetic asking, but could you sit with me? Not on the bed or anything creepy, and I get it if you need to prep something else for Dean’s treatment, but…”

She stopped, breathed, and forced the words past the lump in her throat. “I need to not be alone right now.”

If Sam had done anything but nod and take her hand, Miriam was pretty sure she would have disintegrated from shame. Instead, he simply led the way back to her room and pulled a chair up beside the head of the bed.

He sat silently, eyes downcast as she splashed water on her face and let her hair down. Miriam kicked off her shoes with growing anxiety, but when she lay down on top of the covers and closed her eyes, she felt Sam’s rough, warm hand closed over her own.

“I get it, Miri. I’ve got your back.”

She fell straight into a dead sleep, and for the first time in a year, she didn’t have a single dream.

…

Chapter 11

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fogsrollingin · 4 years ago

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Title: not even duct tape & safety pins Author: fogsrollingin Fandom: Supernatural Story details: Sam & Dean, rated PG-13, 2.7k words, chapter 1/? Summary: The minute Sam's ravaged soul slipped back into his body by Death, mind and spirit combined to manifest as something barely human. Feral. Death vanished, Dean struggled to hold a screaming, newly re-souled Sam down on the cot, and ever since he's been praying for his little brother to come back to him. A/N: my next entry for @whumptober2020! Prompts filled are No 24. "You’re not making any sense" 😵 and No 18. "Paranoia" 👀. This chapter is the first of many that will continue to be updated after Whumptober. Tumblr link to Chapter 2 || Available on AO3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ not even duct tape & safety pins, ch 1 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sam used to know how easy it was to break zip-ties.

Not now.

Dean discovered this fact while gently experimenting with Sam; he was long past the sentimental aspects of reuniting with his brother.

He focused on the here and now a lot more, if not for practicality than for the sake of his sanity. He studied Sam now, carefully tested him sometimes as he dwelt in the basement panic room.

It had been six weeks since Sam's ravaged soul slipped back into his body by Death, his mind and spirit combining to manifest as something barely human. Feral. Six weeks. Bobby and Dean had been diligently tracking Sam's "recovery" trying to convince themselves it wasn't devastating to witness their graphed plateau lasting longer and longer.

Today Dean figured he might as well see if some hunter's tricks could jog Sam's memories. So, a harmless experiment, the zip-ties.

Sam was always naked, unable or unwilling to clothe himself. He was always warm though. Dean made sure of that. He and Bobby monitored the thermostat religiously. It was harder to keep him clean. Sam gnashed his teeth and growled threateningly but at least he never attacked when Dean cornered him with warm wet towels to wipe off the sweat, grit and grime Sam managed to get on his skin rolling around the floors, stalking along the walls, toppling old furniture. Sure, Sam might fritz into a panic as Dean approached, screaming and terrified, but he never hit or kicked and Dean would rub him down, his ears ringing by the end of it.

Dean tried to outlast his brother's screams whenever he came near so many times. Tried to stay there through it until Sam's throat would go dry, until his vocal chords would seize up, his muscles would relax and his eyes might dull with lassitude. Dean would still be there, soft words and gentle touches and maybe it'd cut a revelation through Sam's mind that he could trust Dean when his guard was down.

But it never happened.

Sammy’s unholy shrieks never stopped until Dean would back away, shaky, the sound echoing in his head. Each time he tried, Dean would last longer than he had before but never longer than Sam could hold out, his little brother's tireless yowls a relentless barrage of mindless alarm and panic. And then every time without fail, when Dean retreated, Sam would instantly go quiet and prowl, wary unblinking eyes staying fixed on him.

It was a tactic, Dean had realized.

Depending on his mood, this knowledge made Dean either furious or on the brink of despair. It was a tactic that worked so well on him. Every time. The desperate, piercing vocals of fear and terror from Sam were never going to be something Dean could ignore.

Today Sam had screeched and shook as predicted while Dean cornered him and put the zip-tie around his bony wrists. When he stepped away, Sam calmed. Dean felt guilty for the dark amusement he felt watching Sam's exaggerated movements looking down, squinting, an aggressive wriggling of his hands trying to part them at the wrist, then the full realization dawning that he was bound; Dean had bound him.

Dean wasn't so amused when Sam looked back up at him, his face ugly with hatred and fury.

Dean never seen his little brother with that look. It was pure and unhinged, a demon's mien, and it stole his breath away.

The look vanished then though, enraged roaring and screaming took its place. Sam ran around and knocked things over and clearly had no recollection how to simply swing his arms down with his elbows tucked to split the stupid thing. He was behaving like an animal caught and trapped and trying to escape with unthinking panic.

Dean didn't remove the ties. He couldn't; he wouldn't bring the sharp pliers near Sam until he calmed down.

Dean and Bobby were worried about Sam near sharp utensils and wouldn't allow it even when they were around and watchful. They just didn't want to risk hurting Sam (or Sam hurting himself) in any way. They knew if he did, Sam wouldn't understand; he might see blood and feel pain and think it was torture, and whatever trust gained between the three of them (and Dean and Bobby had to believe there was some) could be lost.

Sharp objects certainly included razors, and Sam's modest beard stood testament to their concerns. And now, regrettably, so was a zip-tie that Sam couldn't break on his own.

Dean had to leave the room as Sam was really getting underway. His body was a wrecking ball in a tornado when he got like this, crashing through nearly everything in the panic room. Dean swung the heavy door shut, closing watery eyes and sniffing as he slotted the metal viewer open. He opened his eyes to watch, make sure Sammy didn't hurt himself. He also grabbed the pliers off a shelf to the side of the door outside and pocketed them.

Sam raged on, wrists still bound.

Six weeks. In all that time neither Bobby nor Dean had been able to find it in their hearts to bind Sam down - to the cot, for instance, or in a straitjacket. They'd been loathe to even keep him locked in the panic room but they quickly realized leaving him free to the whole house served as a kind of sensory overload for him. He'd freak out over nothing they could discern and there were too many exits to the house - including windows - where a naked Sammy could bolt. And one afternoon just days after the re-souling, that's exactly what happened. Sam had been found shivering, naked on a stack of pallets in the alley behind a Sioux Falls post office. Bobby and Dean had driven like lightning to get there as soon as they heard the dispatch chatter but two deputies were already near the post office and made it to the scene first. Sam snapped and snarled at them when they came too close. They were at a loss of what to do about him when the Impala swerved into the alley, the two gruff men launching out to take over. Bobby had handled the two deputies as Dean had thrown a blanket over Sam, coaxed him into the Impala.

Shaken and reeling, they had taken Sam down to the panic room and spent hours with him there, patching up his cuts from the window glass he'd shattered when he'd jumped through it, guilty they had to keep him down there but knowing it was the only way to make sure this incident wouldn't be repeated. They did the room up as nice as possible. Power-washed it, got a big box mattress. Soft white sheets. A thick, cushy pillow. Plastic water bottles littered the area too. Dean and Bobby were on a constant cycle of bringing full ones down and the empties up.

Sam seemed completely indifferent about the relocation. Then they noticed a few improvements in his habits which simmered hope. He was using the bed, for example, and where before if Dean forgot to take him into the bathroom he wouldn't be able to make it in time but now Sam got up and used the toilet on his own. That was a big, big win.

So maybe the boundaries of the panic room were a good thing. But bindings had been out of the question. No cuffs, no straitjacket. They couldn't do that to him after what he'd suffered in the cage for eons, after having had his very soul shredded to ribbons by the literal devil. And they noticed that Sam never hurt them and didn't really hurt himself during his tirades so it wasn't actually necessary safety-wise.

They also never drugged him, although Bobby was starting to come around to the idea and Dean wouldn't be too difficult to persuade if things kept going the way they were. Sam needed to calm down sometimes.

But maybe these flimsy zip-ties, the first form of restraint Dean had used on his traumatized brother - but only because he thought Sam would handle them better, get out of them quick - would tucker him out. Maybe he'd shriek and snarl and jump, run, somersault and whatever other acrobatics he could try to reach an exhaustion point that'd get his guard down. Maybe far enough down Dean could catch a glimpse of... him, of Sammy. If he was still in there.

Dean's eyes pricked, his nose ran. It was this grief mingled with paralyzing terror that Sam was gone forever, his immortal soul so permanently scarred and altered there was nothing left of what Dean knew of it.

Dean blinked away tears, steadied his breath, and watched his brother wear himself out. He ended up in a heaving, sweaty heap lying in the corner, whimpering and writhing around, eyes fixed on the white plastic around his wrists in front of him. Despite the giant overhead propellers that served as ventilation, the air down there was still musty, stale, dry. Sam gulped, his breath hitching painfully. He continued to stare at his bindings, twitching and rocking his body on the floor in a mix between anxiety and what Dean figured to be self-soothing repetition.

Dean opened the door then, immediately going to the floor once he stepped inside. Sam didn't growl as much when Dean would do that.

He army-crawled to his brother. Sam shook and pressed deeper into the cement wall where it met the floor. His eyes were alert slits of suspicion as Dean closed the distance.

Sweat broke out over Dean's brow as he crept closer without much of a reaction from Sam. This was a huge first right now. The only other times Dean had made it this close to his brother, Sam was always wild and panicked and Dean was usually trying to restrain him. Sam hadn't been this calm near him since the re-souling.

Dean blanked out his mind, loosened the grip of fear that held him. But he knew any moment, this quiet between them could break apart, fly away off the rails before Dean could even think to do something with it. This was progress. This was magic.

Don't let go, Sam.

Dean reminded himself to breathe.

Sam's hands were bound by flimsy plastic in front of him as he lay on his side, huffing petulantly, his damp-from-sweat hair tangled and splayed out everywhere, beard straggly, lips chapped, but he was maintaining eye contact. His eyes were so clear, so much his little brother that it hurt deep in Dean's chest. Murky green, turquoise, patches of hazel, flecks of gold in brown, all fixed on him as though he were a stranger. Dean yearned to reach out and press the pads of his fingers to the side of Sam's face, smooth his hair, and just keep at it until Sam closed his eyes. Dean was so desperate for just that tiniest, simplest lesson of trust they might be able to experience.

Without taking his eyes off him and before he even knew what he was doing, Dean lifted a hand. Sam jerked back, shaking, looking between Dean and his hand like they were separate entities, one unpredictable and the other a snake uncoiling, rising to strike. Dean could see the countdown to panic so quickly he just went for the closest contact point between them and ended up petting Sam's arm.

It was awkward, maybe even comical if this wasn't such a desperate bid to build trust with a little brother who felt like the embodiment of the word 'trauma' right now. There was no equivalent in the human experience to the time Sam spent in hell with Lucifer. Dean knew this and in his darkest musings he wondered if trying to coax out any semblance of his Sammy was just added trauma. Hadn't he been through enough? Shouldn't Dean just let him rest, give him the necessities of life and otherwise leave the poor man to his own devices?

Dean's gut and heart always rebelled at that direction of thought. So he kept dragging his fingers gently along Sam's skin. Below the elbow, little strokes, barely there, and Sam had let out a yelp of shock and fear at first but he quieted into low breathy whimpers when he realized there was no pain. He stared at Dean's hand, eyes laser focused. He kept his whole body tense, strung like a bow and Dean realized he was doing the same.

Dean forced himself to relax. He gradually turned on his stomach, he let his legs stretch out, all while keeping a gentle watchful gaze on his brother, keeping his two fingers petting Sam's arm in an unbroken, slow rhythm.

After an interminable amount of time doing nothing else, Dean inwardly celebrated when he saw Sam start to take after him in relaxing. The steady strokes were calming, every sweet touch reinforcing Dean's presence as calm, as harmless.

---

There was a demon. It was lying down in front of Sam, petting him after having bound his wrists, and Sam didn't know its name but it was pathetic. It was always coming to him in this new hell, this round metal tube full of garbage. The demon seemed to be his keeper for the moment. Where had Lucifer gone? And what was this thing trying to do, crawling on the floor to him - trick him? Did it think he was that stupid?

The face was nice though, Sam thought detachedly. It was the first unmarred face he'd seen in ages. Another trick, no doubt, but a pleasant one to enjoy for just a moment. Same thing when the creature started touching him, stroking his arm with feather-light pressure, its fingers gentle, eyes wide open, hellish murky pits of... feelings that Sam couldn't place right now but he knew they existed out there somewhere, somewhere he was sure he couldn't touch, somewhere impossible. His heart twinged, his breath got shallow at the feeling of it, the feeling he couldn’t touch.

Sam discovered then that the demon was fast. It moved, cut the cord that bound his wrists so quickly Sam that barely saw the flash of the sharp metal that did it.

Sam made to launch up and scream this demon away again but then the touch came back, quick as anything on his arms and then down to his hands. Sam watched, eyes wide and following every moment of the demon's gentle, simple caresses as though any moment a knife would materialize and slice pain down him just as soft and pretty and elegant.

When it never came, when the demon finally just got up and left, Sam was starting to think the demon must be sick or infirm. There was something deeply wrong with it.

Looking at the door after it, Sam didn't understand the salty water on his cheeks. He rubbed the wet off until his skin was dry but his face still hurt. His body was numb as always. The demon's touches burned though. They haunted him.

---

"Sounds like progress," Bobby concluded after Dean had filled him in. He was leaning against one of his bookshelves. "So what're you being sulky for?"

Dean bit his lip, staring at nothing as he perched on a stack of books against the wall. He clicked his tongue. "Think something might be wrong with his eyes, maybe."

"Why's that?"

Dean shrugged. "He still doesn't recognize me."

Bobby sighed. After a healthy silence honoring Dean's disappointment, he finally spoke. "People think we see with our eyes. And sure, if we lose our eyeballs, we won't see. But there's another way to disrupt eyesight and every other sense God gave ya."

Dean thought a moment before nodding with understanding. Bobby continued. "Psychological trauma can mess with what you see, hear, smell, taste..."

Dean clenched his jaw and wiped his face with his hands. "Yeah."

“Makes you wonder how much of reality Sam’s actually perceiving right now.”

"And what he remembers," Bobby added significantly. That Sam might not, might never remember Dean went unsaid but they were both thinking it.

Dean shook his head clear. "No. Doesn't matter. He can make new memories of me," he said confidently. But his eyes glistened. Bobby broke out a second bottle of whiskey.

To Be Continued...

Tumblr link to Chapter 2 || Available on AO3 A/N: 😢 Thank you so much for reading! Please like, comment, reblog if you can spare the time 💛🤗 ~ Alex

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