#samwitch fanfic

[amaranthhiding]

Dibs on Samuel

by Hiding Amaranth

Words: 2,194 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Rowena/Sam

Tags: Canon Universe, Episode 15x08, Rowena/Sam First Kiss, Angst with Happy Ending, Angst and Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Ruler of Hell Rowena, Sam Using Magic

Point-of-View Characters: Sam

Summary: Now that the fact had sunken in that Rowena wasn't gone forever, that she was only a spell away, he couldn't let it go. He had to return to Hell.

Written for the SPN Royalty of Hell Weekend 2023 Day 2: Queen of Hell hosted by @spnrareships

Banner created by the author Read Dibs on Samuel on AO3

Excerpt under the cut

He let himself sink to his knees, pulling the boxes of spell ingredients and Rowena's journals out from under his bed. A sense of calm washed over him the moment his fingers touched the red leather cover, the same way it had for weeks now. Something to cling to in the insanity his life had become.

The magic, all that knowledge right there in front of him, had sucked him in quickly. It had carried him through sleepless nights, most of which had ended with a tear-streaked face—especially whenever he'd stumbled over any kind of personal annotations scribbled onto the pages. Almost as if she'd been right there with him.

He'd been convinced that these journals were all that remained of her, his only way of ever interacting with her again. That's why he'd refused to store them anywhere other than his own room.

Doing what we do, we've had to get used to losing people. Probably too used to it.

When he'd said this to Michael just minutes ago, he'd been talking about Adam. But he realized the statement applied to Rowena as much as to his younger brother.

With Adam, we said goodbye because we thought we had to. We were wrong.

He'd tried so hard to say goodbye, to let go of her. To stop the flashbacks of the moment the dagger had sunken into her stomach. The nauseating squelch still haunted his dreams whenever he closed his eyes.

When he'd used Rowena's spell to teleport Dean, Cas and himself to Hell, he'd done so only in the vague hope of finding Michael. The last thing he'd expected was to find Rowena instead.

Ironically, he'd spent most of the encounter too stunned to say much. And that even though he'd lain awake in the half-dark of his room many nights in a row, imagining all the things he wished he could still ask her, tell her. He hadn't thought he'd ever get a chance to.

Now that the fact had sunken in that she wasn't gone forever, that she was only a spell away, he couldn't let it go. He had to return to Hell.

With any luck, nobody would even notice he was gone. He didn't have the exact numbers to convert Earth and Hell times, but even just ten minutes here should be plenty of time over there. Archangels and God be damned, he'd take the time.

Nobody was there to keep the flame burning in case he'd need longer than the contents of the bowl would last, but he felt that this was something he had to do on his own. In the worst case, he wouldn't exactly get trapped on the other side anyway, not with Rowena calling the shots. He trusted her.

The magic ingredients were exactly how he'd left them, all stacked neatly into a small box next to the spell bowl. It didn't take long at all to prepare the spell for the second time that day. Though he was sure he remembered every word, he still leafed through the journal for confirmation, finding the page blindly. He let his finger pads glide over the elegant handwriting and exhaled with a brief smile, shaking his head about himself.

His blood was the last ingredient missing, so he swallowed and took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then cut into his palm. The feeling of a knife in his hand made him sick to his stomach after what he'd been forced to do to her. A trickle of red fell from his clenched fingers into the bowl, and he had to remind himself that it was his own this time. Not hers.

"Initium ad inferna permittatur," he whispered, his hands trembling as he lit a match to throw it into the mix.

He watched the small flame's descent and rested his fingers against the bowl's edge, the metal cold to the touch.

The explosion of purple was blinding, and he blinked, hastily wiping his sleeve over his face when the by now familiar sensation of tears appeared on his cheeks. He knew better than to think it had been caused only by the brightness.

When his vision cleared, he was standing in one of Hell's dark corridors. He still remembered the way to the throne room from earlier, though he really hoped he wouldn't have to fight his way through.

The alley leading directly to the throne room's gate came into view, framed by golden hooded statues on both sides. Several demons eyed him, and he fell into a combat stance by instinct. But then the demon at the front of the group of guards said, "Let him pass, he's on the list."

He was escorted the short distance to the gate. The demon cleared his throat before pushing it open, then announced loudly, "Milady, Samuel Winchester is here."

And there she was.

Sam had been a fool to think the second time seeing her on that snake-headed throne would be any less breathtaking.

Read Dibs on Samuel on AO3

@spnrarepairbunker @fanficlounge

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[goldenraeofsun]

All For You Part 2

A sequel to this one shot!

After the Angel and Renegade team up, it’s like the floodgates open wide for the Superhero draft. Queen of Moons joins the good fight. Blonde Blade jumps out of the woodwork. Vampirate, the Prophet, Rowena – no superhero name, no last name either. 

Cas bemusedly supervises as Dean fulfills his longtime dream of his own superhero lair. Sam just shakes his head.

Queen of Moons, the techie of the group, outfits them with state-of-the-art computers and cloaking.

Blonde Blade, their unofficial armorer, provides all the practice gear they could need to spar and hone their skills. She also wipes their asses with everything from bo staffs to pool noodles.

Rowena conjures several bottles of booze that never seem to run out. Vampirate supplies 18th century glassware.

All in all, a good setup in Dean’s book. They have a place to drink, commiserate, and party. Somewhere away from the nightmare city they’ve all chosen to live in and occasionally save from total annihilation. 

Sam strikes up a thing with Rowena (that Dean heartily and vocally disapproves of) and starts hanging around more regularly, and the ’Gade Cave really becomes Dean’s second home. 

“Alright,” Blonde Blade says as the late night news report replays footage of their latest fight with Crossroads. “Next time I see Crowley, I’m gonna punch him right in his smug little face.”

“Not if I get there first,” Renegade says cheerfully, raising his beer. Around the table, a few others raise their drinks.

The Angel just glowers from his chair, his glowing eyes narrowed into slits.

The Prophet, who volunteered to record the battle debrief, the freak, shakes his head from behind his computer screen. “I told you going for his left flank was a mistake.”

Renegade protests, “I saw an opening and I took it!”

“I saw you seeing it, and I told you it would be a bad idea,” the Prophet says darkly. “But does anybody ever listen to the guy at HQ?”

“Dearie, you have to speak up more,” Rowena titters, lounging in her chair like a throne. In one hand, she delicately holds a glass of scotch, her wide bell sleeves pooled around her elbow, showing off a pale, slender forearm.

The Prophet rolls his eyes. “Cassandra never had it this bad,” he mutters.

“She had none of your charm,” Rowena assures him. “Nobody listened to her because she was an annoying Trojan twit, not because of some blasted prophecy.”

“Thanks,” the Prophet says sourly.

“Renegade will listen to you next time,” the Angel assures the Prophet.

“Renegade will probably listen to you,” Renegade corrects as the Angel turns his laser glare on him.

But that’s the trouble with the Prophet’s visions. For a guy who’s made a superhero career of seeing the future, he’s pretty shitty at it. The last time Renegade acted on one of his tips, they found the right safehouse, but the Prophet neglected to warn them about the fifty bajillion booby traps guarding the place. Vampirate nearly got his leg clean blown off, and the Angel came home unfortunately singed around the feathers.

“Change the channel to something else, chief,” Vampirate says wearily. “We were all there. We saw what went down.”

Queen of Moons eagerly snatches the remote out of Renegade’s slack grip. “On it!” she chirps as she flips through shows at the speed of light.

Blonde Blade grins. “Hey, wait!”

Queen of Moons wrinkles her nose, the fabric of her domino mask scrunching up. “Seriously?” she asks as she presses the back button.

On the screen, a celebrity gossip piece transitions into some fashion police segment.

“It’s a guilty pleasure,” Blonde Blade sniffs.

“Dude,” Renegade frowns.

“Don’t dude me,” Blonde Blade says as she points the remote, weapon-like, in his face. 

As she could no doubt kill him with it in under five minutes, Renegade holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He’s man enough to admit it. 

Blonde Blade smirks. “I saw you watching Dr. Sexy last week – you’ve got no room to judge, Tin Can Man.”

Renegade cuts off his retort as the TV host says, “Dean Winchester, of course, always looking stunning –”

Internally, Renegade groans. He averts his gaze from his own smiling face.

“ – in Georgio Armani at the International Otter Adoption Charity gala.”

“Armani, really?” the co-host asks playfully as Renegade scowls behind his helmet.

The host turns to her, his expression aghast. “Yes, Armani. You don’t believe he looks absolutely good enough to eat? Really, Alicia?”

Alicia shrugs. “Armani suits are flashy without actually being flashy. They’re the epitome of the safe option.”

“I don’t know how we’re related,” the host says with a sad shake of his head. “Fine, since Dean doesn’t satisfy, how about his husband? How does Castiel Winchester rank in Christian Siriano?” 

A picture flashes on screen, of Cas looking handsome as fuck on the red carpet. 

“It’s a bit much for me,” the host continues.

Alicia rolls her eyes. “I love it. The cape is so whimsical, and there’s actually a light feather pattern on the inside, a beautiful detail. And while the cape might be a bold choice, the suit itself is pretty tame. Balance, you know?”

The Angel rustles in his seat, adjusting his posture to anybody but Dean, who knows Cas is secretly pleased as fruit fucking punch. The son of a bitch.

“It’s growing on me,” Max admits. “However, I will never forgive Garth Fitzgerald for his crimes against fashion. Did he borrow that hat from Bjork?”

“Bess looks amazing, though.”

“Alright,” Blonde Blade says over Max’s noises of agreement, “Fuck, marry, kill. Dean Winchester, Garth Fitzgerald, and, I dunno,” she taps her chin in thought, “Meg Masters.”

Dean slumps over in his chair. Jesus Christ, just kill him now.

The Angel chokes on nothing and just barely manages to turn his ugly hacks of shock into a polite cough.

Renegade glares at him.

Blonde Blade starts, “Me –” 

God, she’d better choose to kill him. 

“– I’d fuck Dean, marry Garth, and kill Meg.”

“But Garth and Bess are so adorable,” Queen of Moons objects. “You’d want to homewreck that?”

“Garth has so much love in his blessed little southern heart,” Blonde Blade says, grinning, “I bet there’s room for one more. And all the gossip says Dean’s great in the sack.”

The Angel’s mouth purses, in a way that better fucking be agreement. Under the table, Renegade kicks him to stay silent.

“Seriously, have you seen his –”

Renegade interrupts loudly, “Does anyone want another round?”

The Angel stands up without a word and pointedly walks in the direction of the kitchen. Coward.

Blonde Blade asks, “How about you, Queenie?”

“I’d fuck Meg, obviously,” Queen of Moons says, tossing her long red hair behind her shoulder. “Penises give me anxiety in the bedroom.”

Vampirate snorts.

Queen of Moons continues, “I’d probably marry –”

Garth fucking Fitzgerald, for the love of all that is holy, say Garth.

“– Dean, and kill Garth.”

Shit.

Eyes sparkling, Queen of Moons cheerfully explains, “It’d be a lavender marriage, of course, but if I even got half of his fortune, I’d dump a boatload cash on every queer charity in the city, rescue all the goddamn orphans – Batman style, you know – and, just for the fun of it, sue the pants off Dick Roman.”

Actually, that’s not such a bad idea. If only Cas wouldn’t smite her into a soot stain for trying to put a ring on it.

Well, not every orphan. A couple, definitely, if Cas was up for it. And probably once they retired from the whole death-defying-side-gig thing.

“Kill Garth, really?” Blonde Blade asks, eyebrows raised.

“He has a quarter of Dean’s net worth,” Queen of Moons says, frowning. “I’d make it quick and painless, though.” She looks up as The Angel returns, a full glass of whiskey in hand, complete with a neon blue crazy straw. “How about you, Angel?”

“We’re still playing this game?” the Angel asks in a bored voice as he sets the drink in front of Renegade.

Dean mutinously picks up the glass and sucks at the straw. If Cas really cared about him, he’d fly Dean straight to Bora Bora instead of making him a stupid drink.

“Me,” Rowena chimes in, uninvited, as she usually does, “I’d fuck Dean, marry Meg, and kill Garth.”

Renegade’s mouth falls open. “But you’re - you’re already banging his brother!” He gives a full-body shudder of revulsion.

“And while he’s quite,” Rowena pauses as Dean resists the urge to barf, “ adept in the bedroom, who hasn’t dreamed of being in the middle of two strapping young men?”

If Dean could drown himself in his drink, he would. But Cas only filled it with two fingers worth, and his badass superhero helmet would get in the way.

“Uh, me?” Queen of Moons says, pointing at herself. “Although, I have seen very cute pictures of him and his husband. He seems like an A+ cuddler. I wouldn’t mind being in the middle of that G-rated sandwich.”

The Angel barely muffles his laugh behind his hand, and Dean barely refrains from punching said husband right in his glowy face.

Blonde Blade turns to him eagerly. “Alright, angel cake, what’re your two cents?”

The Angel glances ever so briefly at Renegade, and Dean’s stomach sinks. He’d better not say he’d rather fuck Meg.

“If you must know,” he says in a long-suffering voice, “I would fuck Dean –”

Thank god.

“ – marry Dean, and kill Meg.”

Well, that’s not exactly unexpected. It’s almost sweet. Trust Cas to stick to honesty even now.

Blonde Blade narrows her eyes. “That’s not how you play this game.”

“That is my answer.”

Blonde Blade sighs. “You can’t marry and fuck Dean Winchester.”

The Angel’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “I believe that’s what most marriages entail, actually.”

Vampirate snorts. “He’s got you there, Blondie.”

“Fine,” Blonde Blade throws her hands in the air and turns to Renegade. “You’ve been suspiciously silent, Iron Can.”

“I don’t want to play this game.”

Blonde Blade stares at him with legitimate shock. “Since when?”

“Since always.”

Eyebrows rising in disbelief, she continues, “Alright, since someone’s canned goods have clearly been contaminated with botulism, how about you, VP?”

Vampirate leans back in his chair, contemplating the question. “Fuck Meg, marry Garth, and kill Dean.”

Finally. At least Dean has one decent friend among this bunch. Really, is it so hard to find a single person here who doesn’t want to fuck his brains out or bind him in holy matrimony?

“Seriously?” Blonde Blade says, disappointed.

“I like morally gray brunettes,” Vampirate says with a shrug. “And I know Garth can appreciate a good old fashioned bourbon pecan pie –”

“So can Dean,” the Angel says sharply.

Renegade turns to him, surprised to see the actual anger gathering in the set of his mouth and squint of his eyes. 

Queen of Moons blinks. “Woah.”

“Someone struck a nerve, it seems?” Rowena titters.

“Oh my god,” Blonde Blade gasps, “do you have a crush on Dean Winchester?”

The Angel swallows, his gaze darting around the table, lingering half a second too long on Renegade. “Of course I do,” he says.

Dean closes his eyes in horror.

“He’s one of the most upstanding members of society,” the Angel starts, and this is so much worse than Dean pictured. “He regularly gives to charity. He supports grassroots politics. He cares enormously for this city, a city that chooses to pick apart his fashion choices and resurface his teenage antics instead of extolling his many virtues.”

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, so quietly only the Angel would pick up on it, “Shut your goddamn pie hole.”

He feels more than sees Cas roll his eyes, since Cas’s entire eye socket shines brightly with his inner light. Like a lava lamp turned up to eleven.

Vampirate whistles. “I wonder if Dean knows he has a secret superhero admirer.”

Dean scowls. Yes, he very much does know this.

The Angel’s wings flutter in anticipation. “And you all are just talking about him,” his voice lowers dangerously, “like he’s a piece of meat or simply a bank account to do what you will, like he has no mind of his own –”

“Fine,” Renegade interrupts, slamming his fist down on the table. The glasses all rattle. “Fuck Garth. Marry Meg. Kill Dean. Happy? Can we please change the subject?”

“You’d kill Dean as well?” the Angel asks, in a stupidly wounded sort of voice.

Dean’s gonna kill him too if he keeps this up.

The Angel’s wings puff up like an angry emu. “But he –”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean yanks his helmet off to yell at Cas properly. “It’s just a stupid game, alright? I know what everyone thinks of me. That’s on purpose, dumbass. It’s so nobody puts two-and-two together and gets one super secret superhero identity. Like I’ve told you a million goddamn times, it doesn’t matter. People are gonna talk no matter what you do.”

Silence reigns.

Rowena is the first to recover. She nearly doubles over in her seat, cackling like the witch she is.

“What the fuck,” Blonde Blade murmurs as Queen of Moons goes white as a sheet.

Vampirate says nothing, but his gaze ping pongs from Dean to the Angel and back again, calculating.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” The Prophet screeches. “You - you paid for my college scholarship!”

Dean just sighs and slumps back in his seat. Wordlessly, he picks up his glass and drains it.

The second silence is even more deafening than the first.

“Well, isn’t this awkward,” Rowena says unhelpfully, like she didn’t suggest a threesome with him and his brother ten minutes ago.

Dean ignores her.

“You didn’t have to do that, Dean,” the Angel tells him quietly.

He shrugs. “I was planning on it anyway. Just… not right now.”

“I’ll say,” Rowena says in carrying undertone as she glances between them curiously. “You knew about him?” she asks the Angel.

He gives a single clipped nod.

Vampirate drawls, “It would be hard to keep a secret like that from one’s spouse.”

Smiling slightly, Dean toasts him with his empty glass. He always liked Vampirate best – after the Angel, of course.

With this brand-spanking new revelation, the Prophet looks like he’s about to faint. “So you’re…” he drifts off, apparently unable to finish his sentence.

Queen of Moons turns to him, her expression quizzical. “You didn’t see this one coming?”

“Maybe I actually suck at this,” the Prophet says, horrified.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Heaven in Hell (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Rowena

Words: 489

Summary: Rowena has ways to make her time at court more enjoyable.

Warnings: public sex, oral sex (female receiving), kind of dom!Rowena.

Set in a post-15x04 AU where Sam becomes the Boy King to Rowena's Queen of Hell, this fic is intended to be in the same AU as this 15x04 "fix-it" I wrote in 2019.

---

Rowena’s cries echo off the stone walls of her throne room as her orgasm rushes through her. Sam’s hands are steady on her hips, holding her in place even as she shakes apart under his ministrations. His mouth is a piece of Heaven in Hell - Sam himself is a piece of Heaven in Hell, if she’s going to be honest with herself. What better way to spend her afterlife than with Sam Winchester kneeling between her thighs, eating her out on her throne in front of her court?

“Good boy,” Rowena praises, more than a little breathy as she strokes Sam’s hair but her gaze is steady when she meets the black eyes of the nearest demon. They’ve been putting a genuine effort into not visibly reacting to Sam eagerly attending to her needs even as she discussed logistics. Despite their dedication to self-control, though, Rowena can still see the hunger in their gaze.

Sam lifts his head and his eyes are bright when they meet her’s. His lips are flushed as dark as his cheeks, his chin covered in her arousal, and she can’t help herself. Her grip on his hair tightens and she pulls him up on his knees to meets his mouth in a bruising kiss. Sam moans openly. She’d never had expected Sam to be a vocal lover but he has no qualms about telling the whole of Hell how much the Boy King enjoys his Queen.

Sam braces himself against the arms of her throne as he deepens the kiss with a hungry growl. His body fits between her thighs and her suspicions of his arousal are confirmed when his clothed bulge is pressed against her pelvis. She wants so badly to tell him to unzip and fuck her but she does want to get this meeting over with. Further interruptions will only draw it out longer. So instead of ordering him to take her right here on her throne, she slides one hand up the front of his long, beautiful neck to curl around his throat. He freezes and she feels the click of him swallowing. She doesn’t squeeze, just gently guides him back onto his heels.

“Down, boy,” she purrs.

Sam has his back to the room, so he has no qualms about pouting. It’s adorable and tempting but she’s not going to cave.

“Later, my dove. Be a dear and fix my skirt?”

Sam obeys but when he’s done, he doesn’t return to his own throne like she expected. Instead, he claims a spot sitting at her feet. His long legs sprawled across the top step of the dais, he leans his shoulder against her knee with a knowing smirk when he sees the jealousy on the faces of the court. Rowena smiles down at him before fixing the demon she was speaking with before her orgasm with a firm stare.

“Well? Get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward

[eninkahootz]

SPN Kink Bingo: Orgasm Denial

Title: The Second of May Link: AO3 Square Filled: Orgasm Denial Ship: Sam Winchester/Rowena MacLeod Rating: Explicit Tags: Smut, Romance, Orgasm Denial, BDSM, Dom Rowena MacLeod, Sub Sam Winchester, Femdom, Chastity Cage, Begging, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Vibrators, Strap-Ons, Dildos, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex

Summary: Mistress Rowena keeps Sam in chastity. On his birthday Sam is allowed to come as many times as he wants, but every other day of the year he is kept locked up. Sam adores the arrangement.

Word Count: 6,117 Created for @spnkinkbingo

[satan-chillin]

Why Him?

Summary: Crowley finds out about Sam and Rowena. He's unhappy until he gets his own answers.

Pairing: SamWena/SamWitch

Read in Ao3

[fangirlingtodeath513]

Admissions | a 15x02 coda

We are.

He could pretend Cas meant the collective ‘we’—him, Dean, Sam, Rowena, maybe even Ketch and the humans they’d evacuated—but he knows that’s not the truth. Cas meant ‘we’ as in him and Dean.

It’s the subject they’ve been dancing around for a decade now like it’s not a live wire poised to kill both of them if they’re not careful. Chuck’s the one pulling the strings, the one driving this fucking clown car, he could snap his fingers and make either one of them disappear for good. Somehow Dean doesn’t think that’ll happen, though. Nihilism aside, they’re still Chuck’s favorite show, he’d want a satisfying ending for them, something dramatic, not just some snap of the fingers that ends the whole story.

Dean sighs. He’s got things he needs to do, people he needs to save, a friggin’ ghostpocalypse he needs to deal with but all he wants to do is bury his face against Castiel’s shoulder and drown out the world for a little while.

He’s tired. He’s tired of the endless fighting, the endless days running from every new obstacle Chuck throws in their path. He’s tired of avoiding one apocalypse and sacrificing people he loves just to be faced with another universe-wide disaster. All he wants to do is take a vacation, stick his toes in the sand somewhere with a cold beer. He can’t do that, though, so he steels himself and turns on his heel to head back to where he last left Castiel. He can at least get some semblance of happiness from this fucked-up situation.

Castiel stares at him, face pinched with confusion. It’s adorable, though those words would never pass Dean’s lips.

“I’m not mad at you, Cas. You know that, right? I’m just frustrated and I tend to take it out on the people closest to me whenever it boils over.”

Castiel’s mouth curves up in the barest hint of a smile. “I know, Dean.”

Dean chuckles. The sound is a little flat and very tired, but that’s the position they’re sitting in right now. Exhausted and out of ideas as they face down the end of the world.

They’re quiet for a while, cautiously watching one another as renewed tension settles between them.

“I’m sorry about Jack,” Dean finally murmurs, leaning against the table next to Castiel. The angel sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I am too. I don’t think he was past saving, but some of the things he did—those humans, and Mary…” Castiel trails off, glancing sideways at Dean with a look of apprehension like he’s afraid Dean will snap at him. He doesn’t, so Castiel takes a deep breath and continues, “We could have helped him. We could have shown him the right path, maybe worked something out with Billie to return his soul, but Chuck—” Castiel cuts himself off, face twisted in anger. “Jack was only a threat because he could have killed Chuck and taken his place. I saw what it would have looked like, with the three of us helping him. He could have done so much and instead of letting him help the world, Chuck burned him.”

Castiel’s head drops until his chin meets his chest, so Dean slips an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close against his side. “I know. I’m sorry, Cas, I know how much he meant to you.”

Castiel sniffles, which is a new development. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen the angel cry, though he supposes this is the circumstance that would cause it. He squeezes Cas gently, thumb idly rubbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Castiel murmurs, leaning into Dean’s side. He’s warm and solid and grounding, three things that Dean’s desperate for at the moment, anything to keep him in reality and not drowning in his own head as he tries to figure out what’s real.

“I know,” Dean murmurs, taking a chance and pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple. It’s nothing but the barest brush of his lips against his skin but Castiel sinks into it with a sigh anyway, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. “Do you really think we can do this?” Dean asks softly, lips tilting up in a smile as Castiel’s arm tightens around his waist.

“We’ve done more with less. We’ll figure something out. We’ll get Jack back and we’ll end Chuck. We’ll right the universe and then finally get a chance to breathe. There won’t be any more apocalyptic events to worry about, just the occasional hunt. It’ll be a welcome break.”

Dean smiles softly. “Guess you’re a glass half full kinda guy, huh?”

Castiel hums. “Seems that way, yes.”

They stay like that for a while, content to just be in each other’s company. The world’s going to shit around them and they probably don’t have much time left on this Earth, so Dean’s willing to use a little bit of his precious time getting to hold his angel.

                                                          X

“So you and Ketch, huh?” Sam asks, almost bitter, as Rowena turns to face them once the ambulance drives away. He can hear Dean snickering somewhere behind him, but he can’t be bothered to shoot his brother a look. Rowena blinks up at him in surprise, almost like she hadn’t been expecting him to speak.

“End of the world, Samuel, might as well find a way to pass the time, eh?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “With Ketch? You couldn’t find someone less… I don’t know, murdery?”

Rowena smirks. “What, like you dear? I hate to burst your bubble, but you also murder monsters for a living. In a more humane way than the British Men of Letters, perhaps, but it’s still murder.”

Sam throws his hands up, turning on his heel and stalking toward the car. Rowena’s gaze flickers to Dean and Castiel, the former hiding a fit of laughter behind his hand while the latter just looks bewildered.

“Perhaps we should go before your brother gets his panties in more of a twist,” Rowena muses, cocking an eyebrow at Dean. Dean smirks, clearing his throat and heading for the car. He slides in before Cas and Rowena reach them, so he shoots Sam a look.

“Wanna talk about it, Sammy?”

Sam glares at him for a second before turning his head to resume staring out the window. Dean chuckles and takes that as his answer, settling behind the wheel as Cas and Rowena climb in the back.

They make their way back to the cemetery in silence. At least this time it’s a comfortable silence between Dean and Cas, even if the tension between Sam and Rowena is so thick it’s practically strangling Dean. He quickly flees the car once they get back to the cemetery, dragging Castiel toward the crypt. Sam and Rowena stay behind, seemingly stuck to their seats.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad, Samuel. Who I choose to spend my time with—”

“Waste your time with,” Sam interrupts petulantly. Rowena rolls her eyes.

“I still don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Sam huffs. “Because you deserve better!”

Rowena raises her eyebrows, lips curving up in a smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes, okay? Ketch is a douchebag, you deserve someone who’s not just using you.”

Rowena hums. “And where might I find one of those? End of the world and all, I don’t think many people will be looking for a long-term thing.”

Sam frowns, eyes flickering to Rowena in the rearview mirror before staring out his window once again. She can see the muscles in his jaw twitch, making her smile. She unbuckles her seatbelt, sliding gracefully out of the car. She leans over Sam’s side of the car, cocking an eyebrow once he rolls the window down.

“Do tell me where I can find something like that at the end of the world, dear.”

The statement seems to do what she’d intended it to do because a second later, Sam’s opening his door and crowding her against the side of the Impala. She barely manages to suck in a breath before Sam’s lips are on hers and his arms wrap around her waist. She lets her eyes fall closed as her arms wind around Sam’s neck.

Dean and Cas watch from across the cemetery, exchanging surprised glances.

“I… didn’t see that coming,” Castiel murmurs, head tilted as he averts his gaze. Dean smirks.

“I did. He’s been pining after her for a while now.”

Castiel’s mouth tilts up in something Dean can only describe as a smirk. “Pining, hm? You’d know all about that.”

Dean scoffs, shoving Castiel lightly as he heads into the crypt. “Pot, kettle.”

Castiel chuckles, the sound warm and rich in the cold, impersonal crypt. Dean smiles despite himself. Love at the end of the world, even for the Winchesters. Who would’ve guessed?

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Worth Her While

When the Winchester brothers ask Rowena MacLeod to help them steal an amulet, she agrees -- as long as she can make sure that the case is worth her while. 

Sam Winchester x Rowena MacLeod (established relationship), Dean Winchester 

5800 words 

Written for @spnfanficpond​ Alpha Reader Program, working with @mrswhozeewhatsis​. AN at the end. 

Every eye was trained on Rowena as she twirled from one Winchester to another across the dance floor. Dean’s warm palm lingered over her upper back longer than was necessary, fingers tracing the edge of her dress just below her shoulder blades. To everyone else, it would look like he was getting handsy with her. But she knew he was tucking the amulet down inside the top of her black cocktail dress.

Just like they had planned.

"Hello, boys," Rowena cooed when she picked up the phone. Sam's name was on the screen, but she knew Dean would be close by.

"So, get this," Sam said eagerly. "We've wanted to get our hands on the Aerie Amulet since we found mention of it in Black Grimoire we got from the Loughlins, right? It’s rumored to be a powerful tool against the forces of darkness, but no one has seen it in decades. Well, it turns out it’s been tucked securely away in a museum storage vault with the rest of the Carter Collection."

Rowena hummed noncommittally. Sam was always digging into the lore and looking for specific pieces of arcana. The two of them shared a fascination with occult objects but she didn't always keep track of every latest object of his interest. 

Sam continued, speaking faster in his excitement. She found his enthusiasm so charming. "This weekend, the Carter Collection is going on display at the Brandt Museum for the 100th anniversary of Carter's death. We have a chance to get our hands on the amulet."

Sam paused, the phone line practically crackling with anticipation. "We were hoping you could help us." 

Ahhhh. There it was. "You two are perfectly capable of making fake IDs and getting in anywhere. How am I involved?" 

“See, there’s a reception to celebrate the display and we were hoping you could help us provide --”

"Distraction!" Dean cut off his brother. "You get dressed up all pretty, go in on Sammy's arm, everybody's looking at you, and I make off with the amulet!"

"Awww, you think I'm pretty?" She didn’t have to be there to know the way he would be blushing across his freckled cheeks all the way to his ears. 

Rowena heard Sam chuckle once before he tried to stifle it. She could picture his face in her mind, and the thought made her smile. She knew the look he must be wearing --adored it, really-- the way he set his jaw, but the pop of his dimples always gave him away. 

"Let me see what my calendar looks like," she answered. She was quite intrigued by what they were proposing but didn't want to seem too interested too early. “Of course, I’d come anywhere if it meant getting to see Sammy looking all rich and handsome.” She smirked, knowing both boys would be blushing now, for very different reasons. “I’ll let you know.” She blew a kiss towards the phone receiver and then hung up before she could hear Dean start teasing his younger brother. 

Setting her phone down, she opened her laptop. Sam wasn't the only one who could research. Mention of the Carter Collection had sparked something in her memories. 

There was an octavo, a set of folded pages, rumored to be from an ancient grimoire. Scholars considered it important from a linguistic perspective, but she was interested in it for her own magic. 

It surely would not be that difficult to convince the Winchesters that they needed the pages in order to properly use the amulet. This caper could turn out to benefit her quite nicely. 

The reception at the museum was scheduled for a Saturday evening. Rowena thought if she were going to go, she wanted to make the trip well worth her while. Not only with the octavo, but with a little getaway. 

She saw no reason to haul her “exquisite ass” -as Dean once so aptly described it- the whole way to the Men of Letters bunker in Kansas, so she insisted the Winchester brothers book a hotel. Not one of their usual roadside dumps, either. Someplace with at least 3 stars and room service. 

“I’ve changed my mind. Do we have to bring her?” Dean fussed over the phone.

“We need her help to authenticate the Aerie Amulet!” Sam answered. She knew without seeing him how he would roll his eyes.

“Plus, I specifically recall you needed me to look pretty,” Rowena reminded them with a musical lilt to her tone. It was so much fun to wind them up, both of them. While Dean was the one who had said it, she knew Sam would appreciate it so much more. 

Her outfit was distractingly gorgeous, with a surprise just for him. She had picked out a black gown with a structured fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline that would lift her cleavage and frame her slender waist. The soft straps sat wide on her freckled shoulders, framing the angle of her collarbone right where Sam loved to kiss. The skirt fell all the way to her ankles, heavy satin hugging her legs under a layer of soft chiffon. It flared out at the hem and whispered delightfully when she walked. 

The dress would draw everyone’s eye, and she loved it. Too long had passed since her last chance to get so dressed up and glamorous. But the best part was hidden, for only Sam to see - silky lace panties with ribbons laced over the cleft of her ass. Just thinking about his reaction had her pressing her thighs together. 

Rowena checked into the hotel before they did. She wanted to take her time on her hair and makeup. That way, when the boys got there, she was strategically half-dressed. She greeted them at the door, the wide straps of her little black dress falling off her creamy shoulders. She smirked as Dean fled into the next room over.

“Oh, Samuel, can you help me fasten up the back of my dress? I can’t reach the end of the zipper.” She batted her eyelashes and widened her green cat eyes in her best imitation of innocence. 

He pursed his lips. He knew better than to ever believe she was without motive but followed her into her room. 

She turned to face the mirror, leaning forward to adjust the rise of her breasts in the closely fitted top. As she bent over, the zipper fell open well below the waist of her dress, giving Sam a good look at her panties - the criss-cross ribbon, the dimples at the small of her back. She watched in the mirror as his eyes widened and he fumbled for the zipper of her dress. She smirked. Her plans were coming together nicely. 

Just before sunset, as the day began to cool, Dean pulled the Impala around to the front door of the hotel. Sam opened the back for her before slipping into the front seat. Both of the brothers were dressed in perfectly fitted suits, white dress shirts immaculate. They could definitely pass for rich museum patrons. 

Dean caught her gaze in the mirror and gave a teasing wolf-whistle. “Mighty fine-looking lady you got there, Sammy.” 

Rowena scoffed, tossed her hair back off her throat, and opened her mouth for a sharp retort. But Sam spoke first. 

“I don’t think I’ve ‘got’ Rowena,” he answered dryly. “She’s made it quite clear she’s a woman all her own. But she does look nice.” He turned to smile at her over his shoulder. She smirked and settled back against the seat. 

“Will we get dinner first? I’m hungry.” Rowena changed the subject. She wasn’t usually one to care much about meals, but she did have a reputation of being high maintenance. 

“There’s food at the reception, lots of it,” Dean said as he caught her gaze in the rear view mirror. “I’m sure there will be time for us to eat before the heist.”

“You would know.” Sam turned to his brother, his tone light and teasing. “I’ll bet you googled the caterer.” 

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with knowing what I can expect to eat!” Dean’s retort was quick, but his tone was playful. 

Rowena grinned. It was so rare that they got to have fun on a case, and she found it strangely gratifying to see them prepare for a mission that wouldn’t involve killing. So often everything they did was so serious and weighted, life or death situations. 

She couldn’t remember ever working a case with them where they all got to dress up and enjoy a glamorous evening out. She was seeing a new side of the Winchesters, and she didn’t mind it one bit. 

Dean pulled up at the entrance to the museum, dropping off Rowena and Sam before parking the Impala a few blocks away. She entered the reception on his arm as he handed their invitation to the security guards. They didn’t blink -- Sam had done a good job with the forgery. 

Once inside she took a deep breath and looked around. A string quartet played softly in the far corner. Everyone was dressed up, the men in suits and the women in beautiful cocktail dresses and glamorous gowns. Tuxedoed waiters circulated with trays of canapes, delicious-looking little bites of food.

One entire wall was a tasting station for several types of tequila, featuring the premium brand, Number Juan. She preferred champagne to tequila but smiled in spite of herself. 

That should make Dean happy. 

People were chatting, mingling, and a few were even dancing. It seemed that few people were venturing away from the reception to view the exhibits. That would make her mission easier. 

Someone approached with a tray of champagne flutes. Sam took two and handed one to her before raising his in a toast.

“To success!” he said softly. 

“And to celebrating afterward,�� she purred, enjoying the flush that spread over his cheeks. 

His gaze was drawn away when Dean entered the room. His invitation was just as flawless as Sam’s, but something made security give him a once over. Probably his cocky attitude, Rowena thought, although she knew well that he had charmed himself out of worse situations. When he was at last admitted, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

Sam greeted his brother with a barely perceptible nod. Dean tossed a wink in Rowena’s direction and headed straight for the raw bar: a long table of seafood arranged on ice. It looked expensive and delicious. 

The noise of the party ebbed and swelled as more patrons entered. Everyone looked rich, and most seemed more interested in mingling than in the museum itself. Rowena and Sam took advantage of the crowd to sneak off and search for the objects of her desire. Luck was on their side. 

The Aerie Amulet hung on display, lit by a single spotlight. The octavo was in the same room, on the wall, under a thick layer of plexiglass. It was even tinier than she expected, each page smaller than a playing card. A counterweight would take care of the amulet while the octavo could be easily accessed with a screwdriver. Between the two brothers, they carried enough tools to handle this easily. . 

Sam moved carefully around the stand that held the amulet, inspecting it from all angles. In the dim room, the spotlight of the display caught on the angles of his face, highlighting him to an almost otherworldly beauty. 

There were many things that drew her to Sam. His thirst for knowledge, as well as his attention to and care for ancient mysteries, was deeply attractive. But he was also one of the most beautiful people she had ever met. In this moment, she was deeply reminded of all the things that she loved about him. Desire surged up through her veins. 

She sucked in a deep breath, turning away from him to the octavo. As she inspected the ancient grimoire pages from every angle, she felt a pair of strong hands circle her waist. 

“You know, we’re all alone in here.” Sam’s chestnut curls brushed her cheek as he bent over to whisper in her ear. She leaned back into his arms, savoring the warmth of his body against hers. 

This close, she inhaled the scent of his cologne, starch on his shirt and, underneath it, his clean sweat. 

Finally, she spun in his grasp to face him. Even in heels, she had to tilt her face to look at him.

Sam’s hazel eyes sparkled with desire. “You look amazing tonight,” he murmured, his voice husky and almost hesitant. “This dress….” He traced her neckline from one shoulder to the other, over the swell of her breasts, his calloused fingers rough against her soft skin. 

“You look quite dashing yourself,” she answered, winding the silk of his necktie around her fingers to tug him closer. Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first, then grew more heated with pent-up longing. Sam’s hand slid over the satiny fabric of her dress, spanning the length of her back to hold her against him. 

She let her hands slip up into his hair as she kissed him, painted nails grazing his scalp. He hummed in a way that she felt all the way to her core. Without thinking, she shimmied her body against his, trying to get closer, pressing in where he was already hard. 

When her gaze met his again, she saw fire in his eyes, thin rings of green and gold around lust-blown pupils. His hands sank to her hips, tugging her up to grind against him. 

She pulled back reluctantly. “We can’t,” she said with a meaningful glance towards the doorway. “Someone else could walk anytime. If we get caught, we lose any shot at what we came for.” 

Sam nodded, his lips falling open, although no words came out. He seemed focused on trying to pull himself together. His shoulders rose and fell as his chest heaved with each deep breath.

Rowena smirked to herself. Not that she would ever admit it, but she loved him like this. There were few powers on earth she enjoyed as much as bringing the man she loved to his knees. 

“Please --” The word was ragged. 

Yes, she had him begging. 

“Soon.” She reached up and caressed his cheek gently before pouting her lips and moving away slowly. She spun on her heel, taking a few steps with a deliberate sashay of her hips. 

Sam caught up with her in two long strides. He took her hand and led her back in the direction of the light and noise spilling from the reception. On the way back, she passed a ladies’ room and ducked inside to touch up her lipstick. 

He followed her, giving the room a sweeping glance before locking the door behind the two of them.

As she bent over to check her makeup in the mirror, he closed in, all but pinning her to the counter. 

“What?” She gasped in delighted surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Just getting a little taste of what’s waiting for me later,” he answered, his lips soft against her ear. “If you’re going to tease me all night, you must expect that I’ll want to return the favor.”

Rowena hummed and pressed back against him. All her careful seduction was getting her exactly what she wanted. She took great delight in drawing out this domineering side of Sam, getting him all wound up and bossy like this. WIth her, he could be a whole different man than the nerdy younger brother most people saw. 

While he spoke, he rucked up her skirt, long fingers gathering the dark fabric around her waist. One hand caressed the soft skin of her stomach and then lower, his touch like fire on her skin. His lips pressed a searing trail of kisses down the line of her neck. 

When he passed the waistband of her panties, she gasped, arched her back, and widened her stance. He slid a foot between her heels to hold her open, and when his fingers found her slit, she whispered his name. 

“Soaking wet for me, Ro, aren’t you?” 

She nodded, breathless, as he began to touch her in the way she knew so well. She rocked her ass against him and his grip around her waist tightened, holding her close. She loved the way he made her feel, exposed and sheltered in his arms at the same time. When she was with him, she didn’t care about anything but him and all the things they could do together.

“Shhh,” he commanded her, low and firm. “What did you say about getting caught?” 

She bit her lip to stifle the soft moans that she hadn’t known she was making and curled her fingers into his suited arm to hold on as an orgasm rippled through her. 

Sam pulled his hands away slowly, making sure she could stand on her strappy heeled sandals. When she looked up at him in the mirror, he licked the taste of her slowly off his fingers. The sight of his hand and his mouth sent a shivery aftershock through her. He grinned, eyes glittering and dark. 

Rowena’s painted lips curled up in a smug smile. 

“You little witch!” he said, affection softening the words. Sam shook his head admiringly. “You always get exactly what you want.”

“Oh, yes,” she purred. “As will you, soon enough.” 

She smoothed her dress down and took his offered arm as the two of them left the room.

“Hell,” a familiar voice said sharply. Dean was waiting for the two of them in the hall just outside the door. His eyes raked her over from head to toe. “You two are supposed to be providing a distraction. Not ducking into bathrooms doing, well, doing,” he sputtered, “whatever you were just doing in there.”

Before Sam could answer, Rowena spoke up. “If it’s a distraction you want, I’ve got this.” She lifted the fabric of her gown, breaking the flawless line of her skirt, leaving it just the tiniest bit disarrayed. She carefully tugged one strap of her dress down, so it fell just off the curve of her shoulder. 

She turned to Sam and unknotted his tie with swift fingers, pulling it off and tucking it in the breast pocket of his jacket. Finally, she ran one hand through her hair. Her red curls fell in disordered glory around her face. 

“Now, Dean,” her tone was clipped, “go. Get what we came for.” 

When she stepped back into the room on Sam’s arm, heads turned. She heard the whispers of shame, not that she paid them any mind. Let them talk and be judgmental and jealous. No one else would have him in their bed tonight. 

Sam led her to the area cleared for a dance floor. The string quartet was playing a soft, indistinguishable waltz and she swayed easily in his arms in time to the music. When she looked up at him, he smiled at her so gently that she felt warm all over. 

He was so tall, so strong, and a skilled hunter. But when he was with her, he showed both a tenderness and an appetite for pleasure that she had never expected. He lavished attention on her and reveled in not only her physical beauty but also her mind and her own power. 

In all her three hundred years, Rowena had never met a man who loved her like Sam. And, if she was honest, there probably was never anyone she had loved as much. She pressed closer and he tightened his embrace. For a long moment, her world shrank to just the two of them. Sadly, as much as she might like to pretend, this was a case. 

He bent to brush his lips to hers and murmured so low only she could hear it, “Dean is back.” 

She couldn’t hold back the triumphant smirk that crossed her face. Everything was going perfectly to plan. She would be leaving with exactly what she wanted -- an amulet for the Winchesters, grimoire pages for her, and Sam Winchester, once again, all hers.

She nodded as he lifted his arm and she twirled out, out to his fingertips - and straight into Dean’s waiting arms.

Rowena took his hand and felt a tiny packet in his palm. The octavo. She tucked it into her pocket next to her lipstick with a glancing motion. It took just a moment to fall into step together and then he was twirling her across the dance floor.  

The music picked up tempo. To her surprise, Dean kept time with her every step. 

“You know how to dance!” she exclaimed.

Dean gave her a half-quirked smile. “Let’s just say you’re not the first woman I’ve tangoed with.” 

It was such a Dean answer, self-deprecation mixed with a little bit of mystery. Dancing with Sam had been intimate, but this was exciting. For just a moment, she forgot the plan, forgot everything except the enjoyment of dancing with a handsome man who knew how to move his body. 

She felt his warm palm linger over her upper back longer than was necessary. To everyone else, it would look like he was getting handsy with her. But she knew, he was tucking the tiny silk pouch she had given him to hold the amulet down inside her snuggly fitted top.

Her eyes caught Sam’s and she nodded almost imperceptibly. In a few long strides, he was back on the dance floor, pulling Dean away from her. 

“What do you think you’re doing, man?” Sam’s tone was frightening. 

“Just having a good time, dancing with the lady!” Dean protested. 

They shoved back and forth. Rowena stepped away, out of range. There was no question of distraction, now. The whole room was watching, waiters with their trays of hors d'oeuvres frozen in the air and musicians with their bows held silent over their strings. 

Sam wound up and threw a calculated punch at Dean, who went sprawling backward, crashing into -- oh, shit. The raw bar. The table shuddered and tipped, and Dean fell to the floor in an avalanche of ice and seafood. 

Sam stepped over to her, curled his arm around her waist in a possessive gesture, and led her towards the door. She glanced back at Dean and caught his wink. 

As she watched, he picked up an oyster and slurped down the salty contents. He felt around for another and a lemon. There was a woman striding towards him, petite, with a black dress that hugged every curve. 

“How dare you!” Her face was flushed beneath her freckles and her voice carried through the entire hall. “Do you know how much this cost me? I’ll sue you! I’ll end you.” 

Security was right behind the catering manager, closing in on Dean. No one was watching the door, or Sam and Rowena, as the two of them made their escape. Outside, she hurried to keep up, taking two steps in her heels for every one of his long strides. They didn’t slow down until they had put a couple of blocks between them and the museum, turning the corner to where Baby was parked. 

Sam opened her door before circling around the car and sliding behind the wheel. She collapsed on the leather bench seat, shaking with laughter. Sam looked at her, concern on his face, but her glee was contagious. 

“Oh, my goddess,” Rowena finally managed. “That went far better than we could’ve even planned. Knocking over the table was --” 

Just then, Dean flung open the door and slid in next to her, pressing her up against Sam. “Drive!” he said urgently, tossing a glance over his shoulder. 

“Is the catering manager still chasing you?” Sam’s tone was even but she could see him biting back a grin. 

“She’s just jealous that Dean didn’t eat her oyster,” she cracked, before dissolving into giggles again. 

Dean looked at her for a long moment like she had lost her mind, before throwing back his head and joining in. She looked between the Winchesters. It was so rare to see them like this, teasing one another, flush with success, actually happy. 

Back at the hotel, Sam tossed aside his jacket and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. Rowena was pleased that he left it on. That would figure nicely into her plans for the rest of the night. She stayed in her dress and heels, perfectly comfortable with being glamorous. 

Dean popped into his room and returned in jeans and a t-shirt. He was still rubbing his damp, spiky hair with a towel when a knock sounded on the door. 

“That’ll be room service!” He jumped to answer. 

“Oh, no, did you not get enough to eat when you pulled an entire raw bar down around your head?” Sam scoffed, but a smile played around his lips. 

The three of them gathered around the tiny hotel table, talking easily as they ate. When most of the food was done and cleared away (except for a pizza that Dean was saving for a midnight snack), Rowena cleared her throat. 

“Now, for the purpose of our trip.” She turned to Sam, sweeping her hair up off her shoulders. “Can you get it?” His fingers slipped into the back of her dress and easily pulled out the bit of silk tucked there. He opened the pouch and shook the amulet into his hand. 

“And the octavo pages from the grimoire?” he asked when she turned to face him. 

“Oh, that.” She batted her lashes in the way she knew he found irresistible. “See, we didn’t need that as a companion to the amulet so much as I needed it.” 

“You damn tricky witch!” Dean exclaimed. He leaned towards her, brows heavy. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Of course, there was something in it for you.” 

“You got what you wanted, I got what I wanted.” She shrugged. “I don’t do these things merely for the pleasure of your company.” 

Sam tipped his head. “She has a point.” 

“Although speaking of getting what I want...” She turned back and laid one hand on the base of his neck, letting her fingers trail down into the open placket of his shirt. There was no mistaking her meaning, or the look on her face. 

Sam blinked, color rising over his high cheekbones. His hand closed over hers, fingers dwarfing hers. 

“Speaking of the pleasure of her company,” Dean snarked as he pushed back his chair and stood up. He grabbed the pizza and headed to the door. As he left, he called back over his shoulder, “Please remember that I’m right next door.” 

When she and Sam were alone at last, he lifted her easily onto his lap. She felt his hands warm and solid on her back, her waist, her thighs, pulling her in and holding her close. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and twisted her fingers in the curls at the back of his neck. 

She ghosted her lips over his jawline, down his neck, and lapped at the slightly salty taste in the hollow of his throat. “It’s not often I get to spend the night with such a handsome man,” she whispered, feeling his pulse under her kisses. 

“And you...” He slid a hand under her chin, tilting her gaze up to meet his. “You’re always beautiful, but tonight, you’re on another level. This dress --” 

“Would you like to take it off me?”

“Oh no, my gorgeous little witch,” he answered, an edge of command in his voice. His eyes were wide, and she could see his pulse beating fast in his throat. “I think I’ll have you just like this, at least the first time or two.”

He stood up, lifting her with him, and set her down in front of the desk in the room. When her heels touched the floor, he spun her around so they were both facing the mirror, and their glances met in their reflections. 

“I’m ready to finish what we started earlier. Let me get a good look at those lacy little things you’ve got on underneath.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice low and urgent. 

Rowena eagerly obeyed, and he carefully ran his fingers over the lace and ribbon, caressing her hips and ass through the soft fabric. She bucked back, shimmying against him where he was hard in his dress slacks. Finally, he undid his zipper and reached between her legs. Tugging her panties aside, he notched his cock up against her. 

“Please,” she murmured. 

“Now who’s begging?” 

She didn’t answer, just arched her spine and braced her hands on the desk, letting her skirt fall down around them both. She whimpered, low and open, as he rocked into her. His hands slid up over her waist to cup her breasts through her bodice. He worked her nipples, dragging satin between his calloused fingers. She threw an arm back around his neck to hold him close and keep herself steady. 

She craned her face towards his and he kissed her without ever slowing his thrusts. She moaned his name as her knees began to shake. He held her up with strong arms, whispered encouragement and praise as she came, clamping down around him. 

He spun, and laid her softly back against the bed, kneeling between her legs. He unbuckled her delicate heels, one at a time, and then began to kiss his way up from her knees. She loved that and he knew it, the delightful shivers of anticipation and the brush of his lips on sensitive skin. He pushed her skirt higher and higher until he buried his face between her thighs. 

Rowenae was still wearing those laced-up panties, soaking wet and completely ruined, when he lowered his mouth to her. At first, he teased her, licking at her through the lace, but she was quickly growing impatient. Finally, he pulled them off and tossed them aside. 

The first touch of his lips sent a wave of sensation through her body, already keenly sensitive from arousal. She moaned, and rolled her hips up towards him, begging for more. He raised his head and smirked, disheveled and sweaty in his wrinkled white dress shirt, before he pressed back in. She reached for him, lacing her fingers in his hair, holding him close as she bucked and gasped under his attention. 

“There,” she panted, “More.” As he increased the pressure with his mouth and his hand, her words unraveled into obscene pleas and curses. One hand yanked his dark soft hair while the other twisted in the sheets. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where and how to worship her until she closed her eyes and gave in to the wave of an overwhelming orgasm.

Sam stretched out next to her while she tried to catch her breath. After a long moment, she turned to face him as her eyes slowly fluttered open. He cupped her chin in his hand, running his thumb over her mouth. The first thing she said as she looked up at him was, “You’ve completely wrecked this dress.” He smiled down at her, lips wet, and helped her sit up.

“In that case,” he answered, “I guess we’d better take it off.”

They undressed one another slowly, touches lingering over one another's bodies. She pulled off his shirt and slacks, then he carefully undid her dress and helped her out of it. When they were both stripped bare, they lay back on the bed in one another’s arms. He trailed his hands over her porcelain skin, tracing her freckles where they stood out against her flushed chest, then down lower to her belly and thighs. 

“I’ve been thinking about you like this all day,” he admitted.

“Are you sure it's been all day?” she teased, enjoying the attention and the power she had over him. “Are you sure you weren’t thinking of this when you asked for my help with this case?” 

“Maybe I was,” he answered as he rolled over her, caging her in with his long, muscular arms. “A little bit of me is always thinking of this. Can you blame me?”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to answer, but the only thing that came out was, “Oh, Sam!” as he slid back into her in one strong motion. He fit her, filled her so perfectly, and then he started to move. 

The two of them found a rhythm, sweat-slick bodies finally pressed against one another with nothing in between. He filled her, pushed her, so perfectly, and she took every inch of him over and over. She could feel another orgasm building slowly, and she was breathing hard, relishing every spark of sensation. 

“Ro,” he bit off the words, his tone demanding. “Don’t tease. Come for me.” 

She lifted her feet up, locking her ankles over his ass, so he could go in even deeper, and hit that perfect spot. She whined and swore as her back bowed, grinding up against him, fingers digging into his back as he carried her higher and higher. 

He dropped his head, damp silky strands brushing her face, as he sucked bruising kisses over her neck and shoulders, teeth just grazing her collarbone. That little edge was all it took, and she obeyed his command, letting go under him, crying out, falling away except for his strong arms around her.

Sam groaned and gave in to his own orgasm at last. When they both stilled, breathing hard, Sam rolled to his side, tugging her with him. He pulled back just far enough to look at her, to cup her cheek in his hand. She let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment, heavy lashes brushing his fingertips. 

“I’m sorry about your pretty dress, my love,” he said softly.

She laughed at that and looked back up at him, a teasing glint in her eyes. “I’m not. It served its purpose.”

“Was the purpose to acquire the amulet or to seduce me?” Sam grinned, easy and relaxed, his dimples deep. 

“Mmm, maybe both. Besides, you paid for it with one of your stolen credit cards.”

Sam’s brows rose as his grin widened. “Well, I guess we can call it a necessary expense for the case, then. Something pretty to make this all worth your while, right?” 

His mouth closed over hers again and there were no more words necessary. Very worth her while, indeed. 

SPN First Last and Always: @austin-winchester67​ @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler​ @divadinag​ @emoryhemsworth​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @gh0stgurl​ @idreamofplaid​ @kalesrebellion​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @maddiepants​ @magssteenkamp​ @onethirstyunicorn​   @there-must-be-a-lock​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @tloveswriting​

Author’s Note

First of all, every thanks to @mrswhozeewhatsis. The minute I saw you were the Alpha Reader for July, I knew I wanted to try. Working with you has been even better than I���d hoped - you’ve pushed and prodded, commented and suggested, read and reread and reread. Along the way I’ve laughed a lot, learned a lot, and I feel I’ve gained a friend!

Second, thanks to @mskathywriteswords who gave it a good read and pointed out a couple of things I missed. Thanks for knowing my writing and me so well!

Finally, thanks to my Squad who discussed the reception in great detail, especially the food and drink and one certain catering manager: @thoughtslikeaminefield, @there-must-be-a-lock​, @mskathywriteswords,  @cracksinthewalls, @itmighthavebeenintentional, @fookinghelljensensthighs, @icemankazansky, @littlegreenplasticsoldier, @dawnie1988, @stusbunker, @lastactiontricia

I love you all and can’t imagine my life without you.  

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff​ @hot-mess-magee​ @lilsylvia​ @lilsylvia​ @lovealways-j​ @sammysnaughtygirl​

Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach @lilsylvia @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose @spn-rosam

Dean Curious: @adoptdontshoppets​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @deangirl7695​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovealways-j​  @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @stoneyggirl​ @wayward-gypsy​

[tibbinswrites]

The Final Season: Home is Where One Starts From

Well guys, it’s here! I have poured a lot of blood, sweat and tears into this fic and it’s finally time to post!

The fanart (if it’s working properly, I’ve never added art to a fic before, sorry!) is by the wonderfully talented @love-nakamura and the fact that I finished it at all is thanks to the deadlines provided by entering @spncanonbigbang. 

Please be mindful of the tags, there is some gorey stuff in there.

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester

Summary: Alternate Season 15. Grieving the loss of Jack, Team Free Will is splintering. Cas needs time to process, leaving the Winchesters to find the solution to the God problem. But when Chuck interferes with their home by dredging up the past, they, and Rowena, have to figure out a way to reclaim it while learning how hunting as they know it has been changed forever. Meanwhile, Cas finds a complicated case and a familiar face in Cope, Colorado. Can he find the thing turning this town on its head before it catches up to him? Intended as the first part of a series but can be read as a stand-alone. Title taken from a T. S. Eliot poem.

Read it on AO3

Snippet

They stood together back to back, shoulder to shoulder as they had done so many times before. Jack’s still smoking corpse was kicked aside by one of the approaching zombies, as though he meant nothing, as though he hadn’t been a son to all three of them just moments before. Cas let out a strange, hollow sound from behind Sam as Jack was trampled under dozens of pairs of dead feet, and Dean stepped forward to scoop up Chuck’s gun and shove it into his waistband before retreating back into position and out of his view. Sam’s makeshift iron spike trembled slightly in his hands as he watched the monsters advance, almost tentative, probably at least somewhat disorientated from their sudden resurrection. His shoulder hurt. It had been a stupid move to shoot Chuck with that damn gun; satisfying sure, and he hadn't been aiming for anything vital, but still, stupid. Now he was the weak link and judging from the appreciative sniffs and wild, manic grins on some of the creatures’ faces, they knew it too.

He’d fought with worse, against worse, but they were desperately outnumbered and these creatures had been summoned by God . It was only a hunter’s instinct and assumption that led Sam to believe that these things were zombies of the like they were used to. He felt more than heard the hitch in Dean’s breathing, the only outward sign that his brother too was scared shitless.

At some invisible signal the monsters began to speed up, incensed into rage by who knew what. When the first wave crashed over them Sam lost track of time, lost track of where the others were or if they were even still alive. He was wrenched this way and that by the horde, their unspoken plan of staying together immediately thwarted. He heard a gun go off and desperately tried to twist around to get to his brother but it was impossible. He hoped Dean was giving warning shots rather than trying to hit anything.

The fight seemed to last for days. He cut down zombie after zombie but it didn’t seem to make any difference to their numbers. He was covered in blood; some of it his own, most of it not. He tasted it on his tongue, mixed with earth and rot, cold and congealed. He spat and gagged, his ears rang with angered howls and roars and screams, and still they kept coming.

“Sammy!?” he heard once, his brother’s voice full of panic, “Sam!?”

“Here!” he tried to yell back, though whether he was heard or not he had no idea. He could barely see through the press of bodies; sunken eyes and grey skin hanging off bones, all in the ragged Sunday best they’d been buried in. They gave off a putrid smell, different stages of decomposition mixed with some fresher embalming fluid. It was strong and more than concentrated enough to make Sam want to fall to his knees and throw up. His shoulder burned, his every muscle ached with fatigue, and still he fought. Another head went rolling, another brain impaled. He wrenched the spike free and whirled around to deflect another attack. Gore dripped from the end of it, crusted and black in the artificial darkness. The flashes of red that still sparked from the fissures in the ground were pretty much the only light source. Well… that and the occasional blaze of white grace that told him Cas was still alive, or at least he had been a few minutes ago.

Read more on AO3

[javocjovian]

In Charge, SPN Kink Bingo

Happy 2020! Here’s the first square of my new Bingo card :D

Title: In Charge Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219957 Square Filled: Vibrators Ship: Samwitch (Soulless Sam x Queen of Hell Rowena) Rating: E Tags: Dom/Top!Rowena, Sub/Bottom!Sam, Pegging, Magic Bondage, Discipline, Dildos, Vibrators, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Scratching, Slapping, Edging, Cunniligous, Face-sitting, Kissing, Rimming, Lube, Buttplugs Summary: Sam Winchester pays the Queen of Hell a visit, but his request isn’t what the Queen expected—It’s much, much better. Word Count: 4066

Created for @spnkinkbingo​ Beta-ed by @dontshootmespence​

Quote:

Rowena lowered herself to Sam's ear. "I am the most powerful witch in the world, Sam." She smoothed a hand down Sam's bent back. "Say 'no' all you want. I'll know when you mean it. And more importantly," she raked her fingers up into Sam's hair and pulled, "I'll know when you don't."

It was at that moment that Sam wondered what in Hell he’d gotten himself into, and at the same time wondered why on Earth he hadn’t done it sooner.

In Charge

The throne room of Hell was quiet. Demonic screams echoed distantly off the high chambered ceiling. Flames flickered in sconces, casting red light on the gleaming stone floor. The sounds ebbed and flowed, like the heartbeat of Hell, but it went unnoticed by the Queen.

The tall backed, monolithic throne was occupied by its smallest yet most regal victor yet. Rowena MacLeod, bathed in a blood red gown, leaned back in her throne and pursed her lips. Her fiery hair was done up in elaborate braids and fell down her shoulder like the mane of a stallion. Her crimson nails idly stroked the stone arm as she watched the only other figure in the room undressing for her.

"Samuel…" she crooned. Her eyes flickered down the godlike physique of Sam Winchester, drinking him in inch by inch.

Sam’s body glowed like gold in the Hellish light, naked but for a curious, cold smile. He held out his muscled arms, giving Rowena a breathtaking view. "Well?"

Rowena bit her lip and leaned forward. "Oh, you'll do, Samuel."

Sam smirked.

Rowena rose to her feet, drinking in every inch of Sam without hesitation. She didn’t touch him, but Sam could feel the path of her eyes like fire.

Rowena was especially small compared to Sam, but the difference in size did nothing to extinguish her royal presence. Lesser men than Sam would have been dwarfed by her, but Sam didn't cower. He watched greedily as Rowena's eyes swept over him, as she circled him with predatory grace, moving closer and closer, close enough for Sam to feel her breath on his skin.

"Are you just going to look at me, or…"

Rowena shushed him with a long-nailed finger. "You'll speak when spoken to, Sam," she rasped.

Sam smiled cockily.

Then Rowena stood on tiptoe to whisper in Sam's ear. "And I'll 'just look at you' however long I like."

Sam's smile melted. His eyes turned hot as she slipped away, leaving him staring hungrily after her.

"Now..." She smiled, content with Sam's burning silence. "...I think it's high time you bowed for your Queen," she simpered. She gave Sam a flirtatious look, then dropped her voice to a growl. "On your knees, Samuel."

Sam gave her a dark smile, but he did as she said. How could he not?

The stone floor was cold on Sam’s knees, but not uncomfortable. He could feel Rowena appraising him like a piece of art. He felt like he was about to be mounted above her throne. He thought he’d be okay with that. At last Sam lowered his head, baring the back of his neck to Rowena in a short bow.

"Very nice, Sam." She brushed a hand over Sam's neck and shoulder, sending chills down his spine. "But I think we can do better, don't you?"

Sam was too intrigued to reply. He listened to Rowena's heels click away from him, then he heard something moving across the floor. A backless chair scooted in front of Sam as if by magic. He smiled incredulously at it, then looked up at Rowena.

She rose a brow. "Well?" She draped a hand over Sam's firm shoulder once more, then lowered her voice sinfully. "Bend over, Sam."

Sam felt a rush of arousal, but he couldn't help himself. The words fell out of him without pause. "And what happens if I say 'no'?" He licked his lips and gave her and roguish look.

Rowena smiled, as if pleased he had asked.

With a flick of Rowena’s wrist, Sam was suddenly being bent over as if a magic hand pushed him down. Sam inhaled deeply as his chest and stomach lay flat on the plush seat.

Rowena lowered herself to Sam's ear. "I am the most powerful witch in the world, Sam." She smoothed a hand down Sam's bent back. "Say 'no' all you want. I'll know when you mean it. And more importantly," she raked her fingers up into Sam's hair and pulled, "I'll know when you don't."

It was at that moment that Sam wondered what in Hell he’d gotten himself into, and at the same time wondered why on Earth he hadn’t done it sooner. He chuckled, despite being temporarily blinded by those fingers.

"Yes, ma'am," he eyed her resiliently, masking his breathless arousal with confidence.

Rowena smiled, her lips ghosting over Sam’s neck.

A sudden slap on his ass made Sam gasp and grip the edges of the backless chair.

"Ah-ah, speak when spoken to, Sam," Rowena purred.

Before Sam could catch his breath, she slapped him again and grabbed his ass with surprising strength.

"And it's 'yes, Queen.'" She added, massaging his ass firmly. "Go on."

Sam took a deep breath and said, "Yes, Queen."

Rowena slapped his ass again anyway.

Sam smiled. He closed his eyes as Rowena continued to massage his ass. He was becoming heady with arousal.

"You offered your services to me, did you not?" Rowena asked. "Well, then you should know how to address your Queen." She slapped him again.

Sam jumped slightly, then retorted, "And what happens… when I'm King?" He couldn’t keep the arousal out of his voice that time.

Rowena's smile widened. "Well," she said, leaning over his ear. "Then we'll be doing this a lot, won't we?"

Sam’s eyes fluttered. Sam had never taken a demon deal before, but that one sounded too good to pass up. He caught a glimpse of Rowena’s face in time to she her wink at him.

"You look absolutely marvelous, Samuel," she hummed, raking her nails over Sam's firm ass and making Sam shiver with delight. "Quite fidgety though, aren't you? Let’s see if your Queen can’t fix that."

Once again, Sam felt Rowena's magic take hold of him. Something invisible bound his wrists to the side of the chair, trapping him bent over it. Then he felt his ankles bound similarly to the floor. Sam tested his restraints with interest, but they wouldn't budge. He was locked into place, bent over that chair with his legs spread. His heart dropped into his groin.

"Oh, I knew you were the kinky one,” Rowena said, relishing the sight.

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Rowena slapped his ass again. Her fingernails raked down the reddened, raw skin and Sam lost his train of thought entirely. He knew he was fully erect now, and Rowena could definitely tell.

"Now then… if you want to be my King, there's something I have to teach you, Sam," she said.

Her fingers fell away from Sam and she began walking away from him. Sam could no longer see her, but he could hear her rummaging for something behind him. He tried to look over his shoulder, but he couldn't see past the throne. He wanted to say something to take the edge off—he hadn't felt this much of anything in a long time—but Rowena beat him to it.

"Poor Samuel. No soul, no conscience, no moral spirit to guide your woesome, wicked heart…" she sighed dramatically. "What ever shall you do? Ah-" She found what she was looking for. She hummed in satisfaction, then her voice dropped darkly. "Let's see if we can't fill that void, shall we?"

Sam swallowed and shifted his knees on the stone floor. He could hear Rowena moving behind him and kneeling down. His bonds felt tighter than ever as his anticipation swelled. He thought he knew what was going to happen, and his heart was pounding. Sure enough he felt a rush of twisted satisfaction as Rowena parted his ass and Sam felt the familiar sensation of wet, cool silicon.

Sam exhaled a breath, and Rowena began massaging his ass with surprising tenderness.

"Relax, Sam. That’s it."

Despite her tenderness, Rowena wasn’t shy with the dildo. She pressed it firmly against his hole and, one hand on Sam’s lower back, she began pushing it inside. Sam bit back a groan as the toy began opening him up inch by inch. It was larger than he was used to, but his body shuddered with pleasure. It took everything he had not to groan.

Rowena watched in satisfaction as Sam's hole was stretched wide by the toy's violent purple girth. It was large, but Rowena was surprisingly proficient with it. She maneuvered it in slowly, working Sam's muscles apart without hesitation. Sam’s head was spinning, but he wasn’t going to give in this early.

"Oh Sam, you were built for this, weren't you?” Rowena rasped, her accent thick with satisfaction. “Such a good Boyking, taking this thick cock from your Queen."

He hadn't been called that in a while. And definitely not like this. He'd never heard Rowena's voice so hungry before. He lay on the chair, letting his stomach drop as Rowena filled him to the brim.

"Like I said Sam, if you’re going to rule with me, you must learn..." Rowena said. She must have sensed Sam's enjoyment of her rougher motions, because she abandoned all pretense and began probing him ruthlessly. Sam bit back a moan.

"...the Queen is always in charge."

Sam’s head dropped. His body shivered with arousal. Rowena was merciless with the toy. It was a strange shape but it hit Sam's pleasure spots with ease, and she was keen to find them all. Sam was reeling with pleasure. Just when he thought he couldn't contain himself any longer, he felt the heat of her hand on his ass and he knew the toy was fully seated in his body.

"There we are," she purred. Her hand was wet with lube, and she rubbed her palm over the base of the toy, massaging Sam's spread hole with her thumb.

"Absolutely gorgeous, Samuel."

She could feel the little jumps and twitches Sam was trying to suppress, so she dragged her nails over the vulnerable, sensitive skin around Sam's entrance. Sam’s knees trembled. Rowena smirked. She raked her nails down Sam's parted cheeks and a groan finally escaped Sam's lungs.

In his bliss, a word slipped out, "Row…"

"Ah…" Rowena warned, dragging her nails down to his balls.

Sam's groaned melted. His whole body felt electrofied. The dildo was so filling that Sam swore he could feel it weighing him down against the chair.

"That's 'Queen' to you."

She rolled his balls into her hand, and he bit back another groan. Rowena's smile darkened. With one hand she gripped Sam's balls, and with the other she slapped his spread ass, making sure to strike the dildo so it was driven momentarily deeper.

Sam gasped and gripped the chair.

"R…" He breathed, then immediately corrected himself, "Queen."

"Oh, much better." Rowena pursed her lips. She abandoned Sam's balls and dragged her nails down the underside of Sam's cock. Sam's muscular thighs trembled.

"You know, when you came to see me, I thought you were going to ask for help getting your soul back," she said, sounding bored by the prospect even as she teased Sam's fully erect cock. "But oh, you didn't ask for your soul back, did you?" She found the sensitive spot under the head of Sam's cock and saw Sam's back tense in response. She could hear his breathing shallow. "I quite agree with you Sam. Souls are no fun." Finally, she stopped tormenting his cock and gave it a long, warm stroke.

Sam moaned. He didn’t even try to hide it that time. He couldn’t.

Despite Rowena's immense pleasure at the sound, she slapped the dildo again, making Sam jump.

"I much prefer this arrangement," she said with relish.

As if it wasn't clear from Sam's cock that he preferred it too, he groaned a hungry, "Rowena…"

She slapped his ass sharply, making Sam keen. "What was that, Samuel?" She asked, still holding his cock.

Sam took a second to pull himself together. His cock was throbbing in Rowena's threatening grasp and the dildo felt larger and deeper than ever. Finally, he breathed out, "Queen." Sam's voice was low and dangerous, but it was full of lust.

"Mmm… much better." She beamed. "Why, I think you've earned yourself a treat fit for a King!"

She released Sam's cock and Sam took a deep breath. His body was ringing with pleasure, but his respite didn't last. Rowena thumbed the base of the dildo and Sam could feel a deep click, then a jolt of vibration.

He knew what was happening instantly, but that didn't stop his hips from bucking as the dildo began to vibrate. The way he was bound prevented him from getting any relief, however. He couldn't even close his legs. The inability to defend himself from the vibrations made them even stronger, and within seconds Sam felt like his brain was being vibrated out of his skull. His whole body shook with ecstacy.

He moaned a single word, "Queen."

Rowena hummed in approval. "Such a good, soulless boy."

She got up and walked around to Sam's front, watching his torment with unbridled pleasure. She raked her fingers through his hair and pulled him up to look at her.

Sam's eyes were dark and his expression was fiery, but it only fed Rowena's flames.

"I wondered if you'd like this one," she knelt down to look at him, and her breath was hot against Sam's lips. "It's my favorite, too. I made sure it was warmed up for you before you arrived."

The vibrator robbed Sam of any sound. If he hadn’t been tied down he would have thrown Rowena down and fucked her right there in front of her throne. Rowena could see it in his eyes.

"Samuel," she teased, "How badly do you want to please your Queen?" As she said it, she fingered a small remote in her hand.

Sam’s mind went blank. It took all his strength to growl, "Badly."

"Mm… Good boy, Samuel."

Sam watched as Rowena pressed a button on the remote. The vibrations changed course.They began moving from the base of the dildo upwards. Sam felt like he was being fucked by it. He groaned through his lips.

"That should keep you occupied for a mo'." Rowena smiled slyly.

While Sam was indeed occupied, writhing on the chair, Rowena began to remove her dress. Despite being both strangely out of his body and trapped in it, Sam couldn't look away.

Rowena’s deep, red satin dress fell away, revealing skin like white marble. For a moment, Sam could barely feel the vibrations, his ecstasy fuelled by the sight of Rowena alone. She looked like a goddess—Her stark, red hair contrasting smooth, porcelain skin, pinkening around her nipples.

Sam was just close enough to taste her, and he couldn't resist. His lips found warm, taut skin and he kissed her stomach, following the curves of muscle down. She smelled like exotic spice and orchids, very different from the other demons and denizens of Hell.

Rowena wove her fingers through his hair and guided him down. "Good boy, Samuel."

The heat in her voice fuelled Sam. His lips brushed past a light dusting of red hair, then he pressed his lips against her heat and parted her with his tongue.

Rowena sighed in approval as Sam's tongue lapped up her heat. "Oh, Samuel," she praised him, stroking his hair. She pressed the remote and Sam felt the vibrations intensify in reward. Sam groaned into her, rolling his hips absentmindedly as he ate her out.

The vibrator was making Sam's every muscle ring with bliss. All he could do to concentrate was take it out on Rowena. He flattened his tongue and licked long, wide paths up to her clit, then he closed his lips around it and sucked.

Rowena sighed and opened herself up with one hand, giving Sam complete access, and he began ravishing her with his lips and tongue. He lapped and sucked, swirled and flicked his tongue, and left no part of her untouched. Rowena slowly rolled her hips into him, moaning her approval. Soon her stomach was leaning into him, nearly suffocating him, but Sam didn't stop. He ate her out mercilessly.

Sam wasn't sure which was better, being trapped between a vibrator and Rowena, or the fact that the closer she got to orgasm, the higher she turned up the vibrations. Soon Sam could barely breathe. It infected him with a blissful tightness and made his body light up with the vibrator's movements.

"Oh, Sam. Just like that… such a good Boyking." Rowena moaned breathily. Her long hair brushed against Sam's neck as she rode his mouth.

Just when Sam thought he'd willingly suffocate himself to death in Rowena's heat, only to go back to Hell and do it his all over again, Rowena tensed and gasped. She held Sam's head still as her body shook and she groaned, orgasming on Sam's tongue. Sam had never heard anything so arousing.

She pet Sam’s hair through her bliss, and gradually she began to move again. Sam stole another lick, tasting her orgasm and giving her a jolt of post-orgasm pleasure. Rowena smiled, breathless.

She pulled away, her hair a mess and her chest flushed. She looked like a goddess.

"Samuel," she rasped.

She knelt down and took him into a kiss. Her tastes merged on Sam's tongue and Sam kissed back deeply.

Rowena kissed along Sam's jaw then finally pulled away, leaving Sam reeling with the vibrations as Rowena collected herself.

"Oh Sam," she said, rising to her feet. "I knew you'd be good with your tongue." She eyed him flirtatiously.

Without any distraction, Sam was once again being edged to insanity by the vibrator. His body was trembling and sweating, and he could barely see straight. He rode each wave desperately, trying not to drown in it, loving it all the while.

"Mmm… you've definitely earned a reward," Rowena praised, stalking behind Sam once again.

Sam's whole body tensed in anticipation. He didn't think he could hold on if she touched him. The pleasure emanating from his abused prostate had spread to his cock and balls.

Rowena knelt down and, as if she could read Sam's mind, slapped his ass sharply.

Sam keened and groaned. "Rowena!"

"Ah-ah."

Sam froze, feeling Rowena's hands slip down to the base of the dildo. He didn’t have time to prepare himself. Rowena grasped the end of the dildo moved it inside his body. Without pulling it out, she dragged it along Sam's channel, fucking him with it ruthlessly.

Sam groaned. His hips shook violently and his cock throbbed with need.

Rowena hummed in pleasure.

"Q...queen! Queen!” Sam gasped. “Please."

Rowena rose a brow. "What was that?"

Sam swallowed, his brain stalling with that dildo moving around in his body. "Queen… I'm so close." He wasn't sure if he was begging to cum or begging to never cum again. All he knew was that Rowena fucking him was going to push him over the edge.

"Oh, I know, Sam," Rowena smiled, taking in the sight before her.

Sam's cock was impressively large at full size, and it had dribbled a small pool of precum on the floor. His ass was red, his hole was stretched and quivering, and his balls looked full to burst. Rowena hummed in satisfaction, then slid a finger down Sam's straining cock.

Sam could feel it all the way to his prostate, like an arc of lighting. He groaned and trembled, then Rowena found that spot under his cockhead and slowly rubbed it with her thumb. Sam moaned. He had never been so horny in his life. If she kept doing that, he'd come. Somehow, he knew he would.

"Queen… I'm gonna…"

Rowena stopped. Sam's hips shivered, but before Sam could regain control, Rowena gripped his cock fully. Sam's breath left him in an instant. He froze.

"Samuel," she said in a dangerous voice.

Sam felt the vibrator continue to fuck him, but he didn't dare move his hips with Rowena holding his cock.

"If you want to come, you have to do something for me.”

Sam mustered out a response. “W...what is it?”

Still holding his cock firmly, she leaned in and licked the lube seeping out from Sam’s entrance, rimming him. Sam’s whole body shuddered.

“Tell me… I’m your Queen,” she simpered. “That you’ll do anything for your Queen. That your Queen… well, your Queen is in charge.” She licked that tight ring of muscle again, tasting the lube and silicon mixed with Sam’s sweat.

Sam swallowed a groan. His cock throbbed in Rowena’s warm grip. Without hesitation he replied, “Yes. You’re in change, my Queen.”

Without seeing it, Sam could tell the smile on her face was broadening. He could feel it.

“Marvelous,” she beamed. She leaned back and, before Sam could catch his breath, she began slowly and firmly stroking his cock.

Sam's back bowed. He moaned in surprise as Rowena jacked him off. She was relentless. She swirled her hand all the way to his tip and back, and Sam was half bucking his hips again, his range of motion impeded by the dildo in his ass. With her free hand, she resumed fucking him with the vibrator, dragging it over Sam's prostate over and over.

Sam barely lasted a minute. He felt his pleasure swirling, building up uncontrollably, and before he could even warn her, it burst from him like a firework.

He would have collapsed onto the floor if not for the chair. He keened and groaned as he orgasmed all over the floor, riding that dildo while Rowena milked his cock. She worked him to the very last drop, pumping it out of him and watching him with pride.

“That’s it. Come for me, Samuel,” she rasped.

Sam gasped as he finished, his body continuing to spasm from sheer bliss. Finally, he went limp. Rowena lowered the vibrations and released Sam's spent cock, but she didn't stop the vibrator entirely. Sam rode the waves into hypersensitivity and his brain went into subspace. Distantly he felt Rowena feel fondle his cock and balls, as if appraising her handywork.

"Good boy, Sam," she cooed, smoothing her palm up Sam's back.

Sam couldn’t open his eyes. Finally she turned the vibrations off, and when his body at last lay still Sam felt a ringing satisfaction unlike anything he'd ever felt, not since he had a soul. For a brief moment he felt like he could feel a kind of soul in him—satiated and yet, insatiable, complete and yet already beginning to thirst.

Rowena removed the dildo from Sam's body, but she didn't seem finished. The magic bindings were still in place. Sam didn’t ask questions. He waited for a moment, feeling empty yet full, then he felt something smooth sliding into his stretched hole. He realized at once what it was, and the pseudo-soul in him purred in satisfaction.

"How's it feel, Sam?"

Sam took a shallow breath, feeling the plug. "Big," he said honestly.

Rowena smiled. "Don't want you forgetting who’s in charge, now do we?"

Sam smiled, getting a near painful spark of arousal.

Rowena undid the bindings with a snap of her fingers then moved to Sam's side and helped him onto the floor. Sam didn’t complain. He felt wrecked, but he loved it. He wouldn’t have wanted any less.

Rowena massaged his back, and her hands were like magic—melting the stress out from Sam’s muscles. And yet, he could feel the plug in him, keeping him open.

"Sam Winchester," Rowena whispered to herself, her voice heavy with pride, "the Boyking of Hell..."

Sam turned and smirked at her. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but Rowena could call him just about anything she wanted as long as she kept massaging him.

“...soon to be, King of Hell,” she whispered in his ear.

Sam’s smile darkened.

“That is… if you can keep up with your Queen.”

Sam rose a brow. Rowena gave him a roguish look, and Sam took her into a daring kiss. She kissed back gladly, draping her arm around Sam’s chest. Sam could feel her breasts press into his shoulder.

Sam broke the kiss to mutter, “Watch me,” then he took her into his arms and turned her on her back on the floor.

Rowena giggled, tugging Sam down to resume the kiss. Rowena had never wanted a King—She’d never allowed it—But she thought she might have to make an exception for Sam Winchester.

[kingstoken]

Some Small Comfort

Samwena Week (Day 2) Comfort (A03)

Her head was on his shoulder, he didn't know if she was sleeping, or merely resting her eyes, but, either way, he had no wish to disturb her.  They were on the couch in Dean's "Man Cave", physically away from everything that had happened in the war room, if not mentally.  Part of Sam felt like he should be helping, reassuring Jack, chopping wood for the pyre, dealing with the bodies. Oh man, the hunters, Maggie.  No he couldn't let himself think about that right now.  Rowena made a small sound, almost a whimper, Sam cradled her hand in his own, for the moment he was exactly where he needed to be.

[amaranthhiding]

Empty Earth - Chapter 22

by Hiding Amaranth

Empty Earth Chapter 22 is online on AO3! Jack POV for this one. :)

Cover by the author (original post with both covers)

Empty Earth Words: 97,192 so far, Chapters: 22/? Relationships: Dean/Cas, Sam/Rowena, Jack & Dean, Jack & Crowley POV: Alternating (Dean, Sam, Jack, Castiel, Rowena, Crowley, Naomi, HunterCorp Dean, Michael, Kevin, Balthazar)

Tags: Post-15x18, Fix-It, Epic, Plotty, Action/Adventure, Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Splashes of Humor, Empty Rescue, Protective Dean, Angel True Forms, Consensual Possession, Enochian, Magic, Witch Sam, Queen Rowena, Rebellion in Hell, Samwena First Kiss, Destiel Being Chaotic

Summary: After Castiel's confession, Dean carries a spark of hope telling him this can't be the end. This spark is the strongest weapon for Dean, Sam and Jack in this final war. The enemy is God. The battlefield is an Earth devoid of humans, a Hell in rebellion against its queen, and a Heaven betrayed by its creator. And the stakes are everything and everyone they have ever cared about. Read Empty Earth on AO3!

Excerpt from Chapter 22 under the cut

The caped stranger ran through the dark tunnel much too fast for them to keep up. It was only thanks to Jack's angelic senses that he saw the man come to a stop somewhere ahead. He managed to prevent Mary from crashing into the wall with a warning hand against her shoulder. A quiet curse near them meant John hadn't been spared from that fate.

A light appeared, and Jack saw that the stranger held a small flashlight between his teeth while drawing another one of those chalk sigils. The outline of a door appeared in the wall of the tunnel, and a short press of the man's hand sufficed for it to open outwards.

One after the other, they stumbled out into the blinding brightness of someone's heaven on a sunny beach. The ocean was impressive and slightly intimidating with its size and the crashing waves. Jack had only ever seen such a large body of water in the split second it had taken him to fly across it in his frenzied escape from his own guilt. Standing right in front of these massive plains of blue reaching all the way to the horizon was on a different level entirely.

"Close the damned door if you got any sense!" the stranger called out to them and Jack turned hastily to press the door closed behind John, watching it merge seamlessly into a changing cubicle.

The man didn't wait to see if they complied, already running further ahead through rows of white sun chairs and colorful parasols.

"Doctor Badass, wait!" Jack yelled, attracting the attention of a woman who must have been the owner of this heaven.

"Who the fuck are you people?" she asked them, sitting up on her sun chair. "You're ruining my vibe here."

Jack noticed only then how much they stood out on this beach, fully dressed among people in swimwear, running when everyone else was just lounging and relaxing.

"I'm sorry. We'll stop ruining… your vibe. We were just leaving," he hurried to explain, throwing a look at Mary and John behind him. Mary seemed confused, John annoyed, but the caped stranger didn't slow down, so Jack had no choice but continue their frenzied run.

They caught up with him in front of a wooden booth selling ice cream, where the man was creating another one of his strange chalk doors on the side wall. He waved them inside and they were once more surrounded by darkness.

"All right, enough of this nonsense! Who or what are we running from?" John asked, his voice echoing in the silence of the tunnel.

"Jack, you said Dean is hurt? Where is he?" Mary talked over him, and the worry in her voice was audible.

Jack never had a chance to reply to either of these questions, though, because Doctor Badass cut him off.

"Listen, there's a time for answers, but this ain't it. Gotta shake off the God Squad before they can track us to Homebase."

Read Empty Earth on AO3!

If you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist for Destiel and/or Samwena content, let me know in a reblog, reply, or personal message. :) @samsrowena @cactus-79 @typicalrowena @panthera-dei @butch--dean @thefandomsinhalor @fanficlounge @cocklesdestielfiction @destielficbasket

[goldenraeofsun]

There is Only Try, Part I

“Love spell,” Rowena proclaims as she glides down the stairs to the Bunker floor like it’s her personal ballroom. Her midnight blue floor-length gown and elaborately curled hair look especially out of place - Dean’s pretty sure his shirt has pizza stains from at least three different pizzas. The shirt is red, so at least two of them don’t count.

Behind her on the stairs, Sam chokes.

Rowena turns around to face him. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge,” she chides. “Really, Samuel?”

“What do you mean, ‘love spell’?” Dean demands with a fleeting glance at Cas, who’s gone red in the face. Dean doesn’t blame him - between the hooker with the daddy problems and the stabby reaper, he’d be leery of anything vaguely love-shaped too.

“We called you because we need to translate the runes on a cursed box,” Sam says slowly. “We think it’s in some sort of cipher, since even Cas can’t get a read on it.”

“Well, did Tweety Pie touch the box?”

“No,” Cas says, offended.

Dean nudges him with his elbow, saying in an undertone, “C’mon, like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes in Cas’s unamused face and scowls at Rowena's tinkling laugh. “Okay, Sabrina, what the fuck do you mean by ‘love spell’?”

“I mean the angel’s been cursed with a love spell,” Rowena says with deliberate slowness, like she’s giving a command to a particularly stupid lap dog. “Was it not obvious?”

Dean glances at Cas, horror trickling down his spine. “No.”

“Hmph,” Rowena sniffs. “Men really are oblivious to matters of the heart.” She waves her hand again, eyes glimmering violet. “Like I thought,” she continues, placing both hands on her hips, “A jardin d’amour.”

“A garden of,” Sam pauses, clearly trying not to laugh, “love?”

“A very basic love spell,” Rowena says disdainfully. “The lass didn’t seem to have any imagination.”

“The witch we ganked two weeks ago was a dude,” Dean says. A beat. “A man witch.”

Sam snorts.

“There you go,” Rowena says, lifting her nose into the air. “Most men don’t have that innate knack for the magical arts.” She turns to Sam, giving him the most obvious come-hither look Dean has ever seen. “There are some obvious exceptions, of course.”

Okay, Dean needs Rowena and her heebs with a large dosing of the jeebs out of the Bunker, stat.

“It starts as a tiny seed, a wee obsession,” Rowena explains, “and grows and grows until it consumes you.” She squints, wiggling her fingers, and Dean just barely stops himself from jumping in front of Cas on instinct. “I’d say the spell’s gone about halfway through its course.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He throws another calculating glance at Cas. “He’s not writing love songs or grabbing a boombox, so he’s obviously not cursed.”

Cas, still suspiciously silent, shoves both his hands in his pockets and stares hard at a spot of the floor between his feet.

“Oh, but he is, darlin’,” Rowena exclaims delightedly. “I can see it clear as day. Look!”

Cas sneezes as the magic washes over him for a third time, and now they all can see the purple sparkles - really, Rowena? - hovering in the air around him.

“Okay,” Dean makes a face, “Now I’m confused.”

“Not for the first time, isn’t that right?” Rowena says with faux-sympathy.

Dean glowers. He turns to Cas. “Come on, she’s making this all up. You’d know if you got dosed with Love Potion No. 9.”

“I-” Cas says, his gaze skittering from Dean to Rowena and back again. He looks… caught.

“Wait,” Dean thunders, taking a step forward, “You knew?”

“I,” Cas starts haltingly, “had suspected.”

“And you didn’t think you’d tell us you’d been whammied?”

Cas shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be affecting me at all. My vessel is functioning normally.”

“Sure, because you’re such an expert on normal-”

Cas’s eyes flash. “It didn’t seem relevant considering everything else-”

“What d’you mean every-?”

“Kelly Kline - Lucifer, again - the British Men of Letters - take your pick,” Castiel retorts heatedly.

“We’ve got that under control-”

“Killing a child is not ‘under control’-”

“It is if the kid’s the literal spawn of Satan-”

“I never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester defending the murder of an inno-”

Dean throws up his hands. “Did you miss my ‘spawn of Satan’ comment?”

“No,” Cas says, his expression as stony as the Bunker’s foundations, “my hearing is excellent.”

Off to the side, Rowena mutters in a carrying stage-whisper, “I can see how a wee curse like this is the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam says, running a weary hand down his face.

Dean rounds on them. “What?”

“Do you want me to remove the love spell or not?” Rowena asks, eyebrows raised. “My time is precious, you know. I don’t live to be at the Winchesters’ beck and call.”

“For the last fucking time, it’s not a goddamn spell!” Dean explodes. “Whatever it is, he is not in love. He hasn’t been acting any different.”

Rowena beams. “Well now, if he were already in love, it would have no outward effects. He’d…” Her expression becomes stomach-turningly sly, “...function normally, so to speak.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a firm line. As Dean goggles at him, Cas demands, “Remove the spell, now.”

Dean swallows. Cas can’t be - she can’t be implying - that’s impossible. He’s an angel. They don’t feel things like that.

Do they?

“I’m going to need some ingredients,” Rowena says, looking up to Sam. “Where might they be?”

Sam gestures her forward. “Back in the store room, I’ll show you.”

Rowena pats him lightly on the arm. “What a gentleman,” she simpers as Dean pretends to hurl behind her back.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak until they’re both out of earshot, their footsteps fading off into the distance. He turns to Cas, trying to keep his voice detached and failing miserably. “So, you think it got you after all?”

Cas looks away. “I know it has.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up his empty whiskey glass. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. It doesn't work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Fucking witches.”

“I - I could use one as well,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise.

* * *

“So, uh, who’s the lucky chick?” Dean asks as he makes a beeline for the liquor cart in the library off the war room. He grabs an additional glass for Cas and the bottle of Jack, tips the bottle down his own throat to get them started, and pours them out a few fingers.

Cas takes his drink, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look like a dude head over heels. He looks like his normal sleep-deprived, tax accountant self. He stays silent.

Dean thumps heavily down into a chair. “Have we met her?” he prompts because he’s nothing if not a masochist at heart.

“You could say so, in a sense.” Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, face softening, and Dean’s going to hurl for real this time. Cas continues, “There’s not much in my life I keep from you.”

Dean swallows against the ball of self-loathing and disgust clogging his throat. “Some lady angel, then? Been dreaming about plucking her harp strings?”

Cas scowls into his drink. “No.”

“Not an angel?”

“Not a lady,” Cas says, his voice almost unbearably stiff. “And not an angel, either. A human - a beautifully flawed human.”

Dean has no words to say to that, so he drinks. Cas has probably met thousands of people - nice, normal people who aren’t fucked up in the head from ganking monsters their whole lives - since he’s been on Earth. God knows, he hasn’t been plastered to Dean’s side the entire time. Lately, Dean can’t even come up with a good excuse to get him to stay for more than a day or two at most.

“A guy, then,” Dean says to make sure they’re on the same page - because last time he checked, waves of celestial intent cared less about acing a Gender and Sexuality 101 class and more about whether a meatsuit could withstand a holy oil molotov cocktail.

Cas nods, his eyes narrowing. “Your opinion on homosexual relationships is part of the reason I’ve never brought it up before.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” Dean says, not entirely truthfully. He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Homo it up, man. Love is love.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t comment on Dean’s hamfisted attempt at proving his acceptance of ‘alternative lifestyles’ as Dad might’ve put it charitably one time. “It’s complicated,” Cas adds, like any part of this fucked-up situation could fit under a goddamn Facebook status.

Dean hitches a grin on his face that probably wouldn’t fool a blind person. “So, apart from that, how come you’ve never come to me for help? I don’t wanna brag, but I’m kind of an expert in hookups. Sam’s kind of hopeless. He can’t get a chick into bed without her dying on him.”

Cas knocks back his glass. “I didn’t want to bother you with my feelings.”

Dean automatically grimaces at the mention of feelings. But, hell, he’s not a teenage girl. He can man up and be there for his best friend.

He has to - Cas hardly asks him for anything anymore.

Sure, Cas didn’t exactly ask Dean for anything this time around, but Dean can read between the lines. Now that he’s copped to what’s going on beneath Cas’s still waters, he can see how deep those feelings run. Especially if what Rowena’s saying is true and a love spell is barely a drop in the bucket.

“And, regardless, your ‘hookup’ skills wouldn’t be relevant, anyway,” Cas says quietly, lowering his hands. “I’m not interested in… coupling.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That reaper really screwed you over, didn’t she? Look, just because you got shanked, doesn’t mean all sex winds up with an angel blade-”

“I misspoke,” Cas says over him. “What I mean is, I would rather have no sexual relations at all if I cannot have all of him: mind, body, and soul.”

Trust Cas to spout the most profound cheese Dean has ever heard.

And also, what the fuck? Dean can’t get behind that idea at all. Dean’s always been a take what you can get kind of dude. He had to be, with what he has to work with - a pretty face, a killer's instinct, and an inability to have a normal relationship if his goddamn life depended on it.

Like, if Dean had gotten the slightest whiff that Cas was down with gettin’ down and dirty with Dean as his last hurrah (which of course he didn’t), Dean would never have bothered with that stupid den of inequity. As hilarious as the outcome was, he would have gone for a little something-something for himself before the end of the world.

Of course, Dean wasn’t in love with Cas yet then. Whenever it came to mind, it was just a fun thought experiment, an idle what if for him to think about during a dry spell. Like his fantasies about fucking Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Or hatesex with Bela Talbot.

But none of that mattered because every step of the way from Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, to Cas, their friendly neighborhood angel-man, he never hinted he’d be down for a quick roll in the hay... or something more serious.

Dean remembers very clearly: Anna fell to experience emotions, even the bad ones.

And Dean’s not an idiot - Cas obviously experiences emotions now. Dude’s been through too much not to feel something. But Dean’s never deluded himself that they could ever include all the romantic lovey-dovey, chick-flick moments crap.

Family love, sure. Cas might love all his haloed siblings. Cas has been around for all the Top 10 worst decisions that are the Winchesters’ version of brotherly devotion. Cas even said the big L-word out loud himself, when he was bleeding out in that barn a month ago.

But romantic love? The big kahuna L-O-V-E?

Dean always thought scaling Mount Everest with a plastic beach shovel would be easier than convincing an angel to feel that way about anyone. Cas is a wave of celestial intent; waves of celestial intent don’t do anything as human, as stupid, as fall in love.

But apparently they do.

So maybe that’s why Cas has always been so hard to pin down, so eager to leave Dean all the time. He’s been off pining after this mystery guy.

Awesome.

Cas heaves a weighty sigh and finishes off his own glass of whiskey. Without another word, he half raises from his chair, reaching around the table lamp, to pour them both a second round. “I suppose there is a bit of a relief in finally saying it,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t be with him, but there is a certain amount of happiness in it being known, just being seen.”

Dean wastes no time in downing half his new drink. Throat burning in warning, he forces out, “Why - why can’t you? You’re a freaking angel - thought you could have anyone.” Dean frowns. “He’s not a civilian, is he?”

Talk about a recipe for disaster: Cas plus normal person equals uncomfortable questions and fucked up babysitting gigs.

Cas’s eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not really.”

“So he knows about angels.”

Cas gives a slow nod. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of them, though,” he says ruefully, staring down into his glass. “They’ve made his life very difficult over the past few years.”

Dean scoffs, “He can join the club.”

Cas flinches.

“Hey, no,” Deans says quickly, “Not you.”

Cas raises head, his eyes unbearably bleak. “Why not me? I was the one who set the Leviathans and angels loose on humanity to wage their wars, among a dozen other transgressions.” He adds morosely, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if a different angel rescued you from Hell after all.”

Dean blinks at Cas, his stomach turning over with dread at the very idea. He tries to picture some nameless angel yanking him out of the Pit or marching into that barn with all the righteousness of Heaven on his heels. Dean can’t do it.

Or worse, not a nameless angel. Uriel, who was ready to kill thousands without a second thought. Zachariah, that dickwad with the mind games. Even Hannah, who Dean reluctantly liked - he still can’t see her sticking by their side, falling, sacrificing everything for them.

Cas is their third wheel, the stabilizer that keeps Team Free Will upright and moving forward. Without him, they’re a tandem bicycle, and nobody wants a repeat of that opening scene from Gabriel’s sitcom from Hell.

“Yeah, but at least you always tried to do the right thing.”

“There is no try, only what I did or did not do,” Cas answers with a strange, defeated expression.

“Okay, but,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes at Cas’s butchered Star Wars reference, “Yoda’s a lot of things, but applicable to the real world without space lasers, he is not. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try, dude.”

God knows, Dean could never have forgiven Cas for any of the shit he pulled if he hadn’t been 100% positive Cas had the best of intentions. Cas did all those things to save the world, and, sometimes, to save Dean personally. Which gives him the girliest, fuzzy feelings and also makes him want to punch a wall.

Cas throws him a pitying look. “Every time I ‘try’ to make things better, I fail.” He shakes his head. “When you were taken, I searched for months to find you. Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. I’m a… dumbass.”

“I thought you preferred ‘trusting,’” Dean jokes, and it only sounds a little forced.

Cas throws him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a few years ago. But now? I’ve made too many mistakes, and people have suffered - you and Sam have suffered - as a result. You don’t need to spare my feelings, Dean. It’s hardly what I deserve.”

Dean frowns, tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes in Cas's defeated air. “Hey, what’s with the pity party?”

“It’s not a ‘pity party’,” Cas counters. “These are basic facts.”

Dean leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

Cas stares back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face, looking for a break, for a tell - even though he knows he won’t find any. “You saved the world. A couple of times by now.”

“I also personally put it in jeopardy more than once,” Cas mutters. “I trusted Crowley to steal Purgatory. I trusted Metatron to bring peace to Heaven. I trusted Lucifer to take out the Darkness.”

Dean’s heart sinks with every reminder of Cas’s greatest hits. “Come on…”

Cas’s mouth thins, lips pressing together as he raises his glass to his mouth. “You don’t need to stay to keep me company, either,” he says in a low voice. “I’m the one under the spell. If you have anything more pressing, I can wait here for Rowena.”

“Shut up,” Dean says automatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas exhales a weighty sigh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Hey, what you need - hell, what we both need - is a win,” Dean says reassuringly. “Everything’s been such shit, you need a reminder to keep going.” He gets up from his seat, his legs itching to move. “Why don’t you tell me more about that man of yours?” he asks quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get out before the regret sets in. “Maybe that’s the key to getting your head back in the game.”

Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean moves to peruse a row of books he has no intention of ever reading. Eventually, Cas protests without much conviction, “My head is in the game. I am still useful.”

Dean’s head jerks around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It isn’t?” Cas asks, head tilting in confusion.

Dean makes a face. “I mean, if you’re feeling down, you… shouldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean paces to the other end of the bookshelf, unbelievably annoyed at Cas for making him spell it out for him. “Forget it,” Dean says instead. “I still owe you for ganking Billie-”

“But the cosmic consequences-”

“Will suck, but in the meantime you saved our lives. I owe you.” Dean turns so he’s back to fully facing Cas. “So, tell me what this mystery guy is into.”

Cas’s eyes narrow at him. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Seriously?”

Cas straightens and nods.

“But,” Dean says, words failing as he wars with himself. He could push Cas for more info or keep on living in blissful ignorance. But if he has to choose between his own personal peace of mind or Cas experiencing the one pinnacle of human happiness (or so Dean’s been told in countless chick flicks he’ll take to the grave), it’s no choice at all. He starts again, “If you tell me about him, it’ll make this a lot easier.”

“I don’t want it to be easier,” Cas says, baffled. “I don’t want this to be anything.”

Dean gapes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas taps his empty glass on the table, irritated. “Please, leave it alone.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “I wanna help you, man.”

“I don’t want any help.”

“Well, tough shit because you’re getting it anyway. You’re family-”

Cas’s face does a weird spasm.

“-And that’s what you do for family,” Dean continues, a little confused and insulted. They are family; Cas said so, back when he thought he was dying in Ramiel’s barn.

“Drop it.”

“No,” Dean argues, shoving down everything else as his temper rises. “You’re hurtin’, and I can help. Why don’t you trust me? You trusted Crowley, Metatron, fucking Lucifer-”

Too far. Shit.

Cas whirls around, his face a mask of frustration and an emotion Dean has never seen before. “I did, and you know what? They screwed me. And, please forgive me, Dean, but I am tired of being used and used up, over and over.”

Dean blinks, his anger falling away to a raw hurt only Cas can dredge up. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. He just shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s me,” Dean says - pleads, really. “You know me better than anyone else, ’cept Sammy. I won’t do something like that.”

Cas glares. “I do know you, so I know that is exactly what will happen.”

Dean reels back, and he can’t save himself in time before an undoubtedly pained look spreads across his face.

Cas’s hostility cracks, but Dean’s already gotten the message.

So Cas’s one big happy loving family message was only a deathbed thing. That’s… fine. Dean’s done it himself, a time or two. Told Sam to live his life and not go looking for revenge or a way to fix it - all a crock of horse shit, of course. He should’ve figured Cas was more human than angelic with that poison pumping through his veins, making him all weak and sweaty. ’Course he wasn’t above feeling human sentimentality in his death throes.

Face hardening, Dean turns on his heel. “You were right about one thing. I guess I do have more important things to do than staying here with you.”

“Dean,” he hears behind him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

* * *

Dean always hides a spare bottle of booze in the bottom drawer of the desk in his bedroom. It's mostly empty, but, hopefully, by the time Dean's polished it off, Cas’ll be cured, Rowena will be gone, and they all can pretend this never happened - Dean can pretend that Cas stopped keeping secrets because he’s learned they always blow up in his face in the past six years.

Anyway.

First, the booze.

Dean’s barely wrestled the top off with shaking fingers of leftover anger when a knock sounds against his door.

“’S the witch gone yet?” Dean asks without lifting his head.

The door opens. “Dean, it’s me.”

Dean takes a long pull of whiskey.

Cas sighs, audible in the stuffy, tension-filled space between them. He doesn’t approach, instead hovering in the doorway, and isn’t that how it always goes? Always poised for flight, that’s Cas. “Dean,” he repeats, which only makes Dean's blood boil that much hotter.

“What?” he demands. “What do you want now? ’Cause I can’t think of a single thing you need from me, Cas.”

Cas presses his lips together. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Me?” Dean barks incredulously. “You’re the one hiding things and not letting me help you.”

“You won’t accept this is one area in which you can’t help?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Cas shakes his head, his gaze focusing on Dean’s face with his patented laser intensity. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah, I’m just a jackass who can’t get a lady to stick around for more than a few hours. I get it.” He glances up to see Cas’s stricken expression. Frowning, Dean looks away.

Cas steps tentatively into Dean’s room, his face weirdly apprehensive. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Sure,” Dean says, tipping the bottle back like it’s water because he needs to be so much drunker to deal with Cas and his love spell bombshells right now.

Cas hovers awkwardly by Dean’s desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “You’re so capable of love.”

“Cas-” Dean starts, but he has no idea where he’s going with this.

Cas keeps talking, thank God. “You don’t acknowledge that side of you very often, but I feel it every time we see each other, every time you’re with your brother. You care, you love, so wholly and completely.” Cas chuckles ruefully. “I didn’t realize it for a few years. I didn’t see how unique it was, how special you are, but you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Dean’s tongue finally unsticks from the roof of his mouth. Face flaming hotter than the inferno where he first met Cas eight years ago, he rasps out, “Cas - what the hell are you saying?”

Cas swallows, dragging his gaze back up to meet Dean’s wide eyes. “The reason I didn’t tell you about the love spell was because it couldn’t make me love you any more than I already do.”

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, at Cas, the words love you bouncing around his skull like a blocked radio signal. Cas said them; Dean heard them with his own two ears; but the meaning behind the words is getting lost in transmission.

As Dean’s brain struggles to make sense of just about everything, Cas nods once. “Well, now you know. I’ll go wait for Rowena’s cure in the kitchen.”

And then he leaves.

Dean slams the whiskey bottle down on his desk, cursing as it nearly topples over in his haste. He sets it right, swearing more as precious seconds pass by. He hurtles down the hall, half-convinced Cas lied to him to get a head start and is really halfway to Timbuktu.

But Dean finds Cas in the library, sitting more or less where he left him before Dean had his little wallowing session in his bedroom.

“Cas!” Dean blurts, skidding to a halt and grabbing onto the edge of the table for support.

Cas looks up, frowning. “I - “ he gives himself a little shake and starts again, “Is Rowena having trouble with the spell?”

“What?” Dean strides forward on shaky legs. “No - I mean, I don’t know. They could be fucking in a supply closet for all I care.”

Cas’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. For the first time today, he looks almost afraid. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his gaze darting towards the stairs to the exit. “I’m only going to stay in the Bunker until Rowena can finish. Then I will go.”

“Go?” Dean repeats, a spike of panic shooting up his spine. “You can’t.”

Cas inhales a sharp breath. “You want me to stay?”

“You want to bail?” Dean demands, his voice rising.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “You’re upset. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not fucking upset!”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “You clearly are. Your pulse is rising. Your pupils are dilated. I can smell your elevated levels of adrenaline.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude - lines - crossed.”

“Fine,” Cas says, his face set. He gets up. “I can coordinate with Rowena at a later date. She should focus on the cursed box, anyway. It’s clearly a more pressing concern and the reason we called her in the first place.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step forward. “Wait.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you want, Dean? I did as you asked. I told you the spell could only latch onto my feelings for you.”

Dean falters, his words failing him.

Cas’s shoulders slump. “I did warn you, you know,” he murmurs, trying to pass Dean on his way towards the door.

Dean grabs onto Cas’s bicep before he can disappear. “Gimme a moment. What you said - it’s a lot.”

Miracle of miracles, Cas stops.

Dean can practically feel the power thrumming underneath the trench coat sleeve in his grip, but Cas wordlessly lets Dean guide him back to the library table.

“Okay,” Dean starts, his head still mercilessly void of the right thing to say, “So that guy, the one you’re - well, it’s - he’s me?” he asks, stumbling over his words like he hasn’t since that one time Rhonda Hurley opened her underwear drawer.

Cas nods once, his face impossibly solemn.

“Right,” Dean grunts. He rubs at his chin, Cas watching the whole while. “That’s - wow.”

“Quite,” Cas says wryly.

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Dean shoots back. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Cas sighs. “But now you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. If only he could be more like Cas with the grand declarations.

Cas opens his mouth, pausing for a beat before saying, “I was never intending to leave permanently. I will still help you figure out how to deal with Kelly Kline. I will still assist with research, translations, anything you need.” His blue eyes bore into Dean’s face. “I can still be useful.”

Dean’s chest aches. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t about that?” he asks gruffly.

Cas’s earnest expression falters. “Of course,” he says, subdued. “Regardless, know that I am always willing to help the Winchesters.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, “This isn’t - it’s never been - about you being goddamn useful.” He huffs an exasperated breath, frowning harder as Cas doesn’t immediately get it and launch himself at Dean.

God, that would make this so much easier.

“What you want?” Dean says, glaring daggers at the tabletop between them, “That whole, mind, body, soul crap? You got it.”

Cas blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You already have it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Cas cocks his head like a perplexed chicken, still as clueless as ever.

It’s clearly time to bring out the big guns. If Cas is going to spout pretty speeches that steal Dean’s breath away and leave him weak-kneed but not actually, you know, make a move, Dean will just have to do everything himself.

Fine. That’s how he’s always operated, anyway.

Face determined, he leans over and grasps the lapels of Cas’s trench coat.

Cas leans back a fraction, his eyes widening in alarm or shock. But before he can utter another word, Dean brings their mouths together.

Cas takes a moment to get with the program. There’s a split-second (that lasts several years) when Cas almost seems to push Dean off him, but he kisses back before Dean can yank himself away first. Cas’s mouth is tentative against Dean’s, like he’s waiting for Dean to end it all and yell, “Got ya!”, but he unseals his lips with a light sigh as Dean gently parts them with his tongue.

Dean unclenches one hand from Cas’s lapel. He reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, the raspy stubble a physical reminder of the goddamn win he’s finally getting. His knees twinge from awkwardly leaning over, but rampaging Leviathans could burst into the kitchen and Dean wouldn’t give any less of a fuck.

He has Cas right where he wants him, and he’s going to fucking savor it for as long as he can.

When Cas pulls away, his face shows nothing but pure confusion. “Why?” he breathes, raising a finger to touch his lips.

Dean, still half-standing, half-leaning over him, frowns. He falls back to his seat with a thump. “Because you weren’t going to do it first?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t think you wanted anything like that,” he pauses, “with me.”

Like there’s anyone else around who wants to get real up close and personal with the most dumbass angel in the garrison.

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, the faintest inklings of embarrassment creeping in now they’re not kissing anymore and Cas’s first reaction isn’t to look like he got free tickets to Disneyland. “I did. Do.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat.

Cas looks away from Dean for the first time, and Dean dies a little inside. Stiffy, Cas says, “If this is some misguided attempt to show your sympathy for my situation. I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture?” Dean echoes, “What the hell are you on, man? I don’t kiss random dudes because I feel bad for them, Christ.”

“Then why?”

Dean grimaces. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s face. “I have misunderstood your actions in the past, and I have no desire to do it again.”

Dean groans. “Look, I didn’t think angels could have feelings like that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Or I would’ve… done something about it sooner,” he says, and that’s mostly true. Probably would’ve tried to seduce Cas, failed, and then jumped off a cliff, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, normal angels can’t,” Cas says, “but there’s something broken in me.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean swears loudly, his anger flaring. “You’re… better. A new and improved God Squad, far as I can tell.” He narrows his eyes, daring Cas to talk shit about himself one more time.

Cas bites his lip. “You truly mean it.”

Dean tries for a mocking leer, but it comes out more like a dopey, hopeful smile. “You wanna get it engraved? Put up in neon in the Dean cave?” he asks, eyebrows raised as excitement courses through his veins. Cas loves him. Dean can make good on all those what ifs that have been plaguing him for years. “Tattooed on my ass?”

Cas chuckles lightly. “That would be a start.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. He can already feel the insecurities looming on the horizon. There’s always a catch: Cas never stays; Cas might want Dean now, but he’ll fly away the moment Dean fucks up because he has no idea what he’s doing.

But none of that matters right now.

He kissed Cas.

And Cas didn’t smite him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't flutter off to the moon for shits and giggles.

Cas knows him, knows him better than anyone except Sam. And despite all the fucked up shit in Dean's head, Cas is staying anyway, with his eyes wide open like nobody else Dean has ever been with.

Cas smiles in return. “If I had known a love spell would result in this outcome, I would have sought out that witch ages ago.”

And just like that, all Dean’s happy-ending fantasies come to a screeching halt.

Read Part II here!

[samsexualdeancurious]

Amulet

Pairing: Sam x Rowena

Words: 956

Summary: Sam gets Rowena a gift.

Warnings: Implied sexual content.

Written for @spnovember

Prompt: emerald orbs

---

Sam feels incredibly out of place as he enters the jewelry store. He’d called in advance to make sure they really had received his item, so he doesn’t have to spend any time searching the large glass cases for the perfect gift. God bless online shopping.

“Welcome,” the employee behind the counter says as he approaches. Madeline, her name tag reads. She’s smiling but he sees her eyes sweep over his body and resists the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing his nicest jeans and newest flannel but. Well. It only goes so far. Her smile doesn’t falter, though. “What can I do for you?”

“I called earlier,” he explains. “I’m here to pick up an order for Sam Campbell.”

She perks up at that. The vague air of judgment fades. “Of course, sir. Do you have an ID I can use to verify?”

Sam pulls the fake license from his wallet and she types the name into the system.

“There you are. I’ll be just one moment.”

Sam waits nervously while she’s gone in the back room. A man across the room is eyeing him, dressed in a suit that probably cost as much as Sam spent on this one item of jewelry. Like Sam’s going to smash one of the cases and make a run for it with a handful of diamonds or something.

Thankfully, Madeline returns quickly with a small black box in hand.

“Here it is, sir.” She opens the box and holds it up for him to see, angled so the gem inside catches the light. “Is it to your liking?”

Sam nods, hopefully not gaping too openly. “It’s perfect. She’s going to love it.”

“I’m sure she will. You made an excellent choice.” Madeline snaps the box shut. “Let me just wrap this for you.”

She works quickly, tucking the box inside a small gift bag and covering it with a plume of tissue paper.

“Can I do anything else for you today?” she asks as she hands the bag over.

Sam shakes his head. “No, thank you. Have a nice day.”

“You as well, sir.”

He tries not to speed walk from the store but he’s not sure he really succeeds.

--

Sam doesn’t open the bag until he’s safe in his bedroom, one long drive later. He’s careful to preserve the gift wrapping as he removes the box and sets it in the center of his desk.

He’s never made an amulet himself but he’s seen Rowena make multiple and the process is relatively simple. Sam lights his chosen candle and incense, and takes a moment to center himself before opening the jewelry box.

--

It’s a few days before Sam sees Rowena again, for their planned dinner date at the little Italian place down the block from her apartment. She’s as beautiful as ever in a deep purple pantsuit, perfect curls tumbling free around her shoulders.

“Hello, dove,” she purrs, stretching up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How was your drive?”

“Uneventful,” he answers. His hands find her waist on instinct, drawing her closer. He’s put a suit on for her and the slow stroke of her fingers along his lapels tell him she appreciates the effort. “You look stunning.”

Rowena smiles warmly. “You’re a darling. Let’s go in. I reserved our table.”

“Our table” is tucked away in a quiet corner of the restaurant, affording them a little more privacy from other patrons. Sam pulls out her chair for her before taking his own seat. He feels like he’s vibrating with nerves, though that’s probably an exaggeration.

“Samuel,” Rowena says, interrupting his thoughts. “Is everything all right?”

Now is as good of a time as ever.

“I, um.” His cheeks are burning. “I got you a gift.”

“You didn’t have to do that!” She’s smiling, though, clearly excited by this surprise.

Sam pulls the black box from the inner pocket of his jacket. He’d ended up forgoing the gift wrapping, since a gift bag isn’t exactly conducive to pockets. He slides it across the table to her.

Rowena very gently picks up the box and opens it. She gasps softly.

“Oh, Samuel,” she murmurs, lifting the necklace from its velvet cushion. “It’s beautiful.”

It is, especially dangling from her slender fingers on its fine silver chain. The emerald is perfectly spherical, attached to the chain via a five-point cap.

“I charmed it,” Sam says, trying to hide how nervous he is. “It’s an amulet to protect against enchantment and malevolent spirits.”

“I can see that.” Rowena holds the emerald up to the light, admiring it. “You did a good job, especially for your first time.”

His cheeks burn even hotter and Rowena just smirks.

“Put it on me?” she asks, holding the necklace out to him.

Sam takes it, the strong chain looking even more delicate in his fingers, and stands to move behind her. The clasp is tiny and his hands are shaking a little but he gets it open as Rowena sweeps her curls out of the way. He bends to carefully place it around her neck and as the clasp settles in place at the top of her spine, he can’t resist the urge to drop a kiss to the spot. Rowena’s breath hitches at the linger of his lips on her skin and when he stands, she gazes up at him with hungry eyes.

“Trouble,” she teases when he’s returned to his seat. The emerald looks gorgeous where it rests in the hollow of her throat, highlighting the fine points of her collarbone. “You better plan to follow through on that when we get home.”

Sam chuckles, feeling more confident now. “Don’t worry. I do.”

[eninkahootz]

SPN Kink Bingo: Thigh Riding

Title: Dinner Link: AO3 Square Filled: Thigh Riding Ship: Sam Winchester/Rowena MacLeod Rating: Explicit Tags: Smut, Romance, Thigh Riding, Vampires, Consensual Blood Drinking, Witches, Magic, AU where Rowena is a vampire witch hybrid, Rowena MacLeod Lives, Grinding, Hand Jobs

Summary: Witchpire Rowena consensually drinks blood from her beloved Samuel while she rides his thigh.

Word Count: 1,209 Created for @spnkinkbingo

[satan-chillin]

Fair Game

(Chapter 1/2)

Summary: Sam and Dean encountered a completely different version of themselves. An AU of Episode S15E13 "Destiny's Child".

Pairings: Destiel & Samwena/Samwitch

Rating: T

Also available in Ao3

The heavy and ornate mahogany doors opened at exactly 12:30 in the evening and came in a couple dressed handsomely, their cheeks streaked with redness from one too many flutes of champagne from the evening celebration they came from.  

  “Remind me not to wear this outfit again,” the man muttered. He wasn’t one to normally voice his complaint, thinking he would sound whiny, but it seemed that the alcohol was loosening up his tongue. “I look ridiculous in purple. Like… Like Barney.”  

  The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously comparing yourself with a purple dinosaur?” Her sigh was fond. “You should have seen yourself in the mirror, dear.”

  “I mean, I did? While you were helping me with the pocket square.” He idly touched the handkerchief. “I don’t know. I thought it’ll be nice, but, er, I might have stood out too much earlier.”

  “And that’s a bad thing? To stand out on your own book signing event?” the woman snorted. “Honestly, you’re the only person I know who doesn’t want the spotlight even if he earned that right.”

  The man shrugged. “That's me.”

  “Aye. I know you too well.” The woman walked closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know as well that you deserve everyone’s attention the most, you humble giant.”

  With their difference in height, she has to tiptoe to peck his cheek, though the man eagerly met her halfway to give her an eskimo kiss in return, making her giggle a little uncharacteristically. 

  It only served to make her endearing to him.   

  “Thank you, though, for helping me pick,” he said earnestly. He let his hands stay on her slim waist, nuzzling the top of her head affectionately. “Should I get used to this from now on?”

  “Well,” she began, patting his chest teasingly. “If you haven’t realized it yet that I’m gradually improving your wardrobe, then you’re not paying attention, dear.” She smirked at his mild indignation and pulled herself from his hold. “Although, if I have to choose,” she made a show of running her eyes from his head to toe, “My favorite will always be getting you out of your clothes.”

  The man went red from root to tips, much to the woman’s utter amusement. 

  “Come join me upstairs if you’re willing to let me do so tonight,” she said, flicking her long red hair over an exposed milky shoulder. She walked up the stairs, sashaying her hips, knowing full well that the man's eyes followed her and the sway of her lacy black dress that seemingly molded itself with her curves. 

  As the man stood there dreamily and thinking what a damn lucky man he was to have someone so beautiful not only on the outside but also on the inside, someone who understood all his quirks and accepted him for what he was, he couldn't help but finger the small velvet box he was keeping inside his pocket. 

  Tonight, he promised himself. He would ask the big question tonight. 

  He could have done it during tonight's event, but then again he wasn't really into big gestures. He was in his element in moments where it was quiet with just the two of them sharing a blanket of comfortable silence. 

  Well, springing out the question right before he was about to get sex was not the romantic scene he was aiming for either, but… anymore prolonging and he would butcher this one out.

  He knew her and been together with her for three years now, and yet he found his hands shaking and sweaty in nervousness. She loved him back, of that he was sure of, but what if she didn't want the same? Would she think that they were moving too fast? He didn't want her to think that he would limit her freedom and independence once they were legally bound together. 

  The man was roused out from his thoughts when a black mass of fur rubbed itself against his leg. He picked up the cat and scratched it behind the ear. 

  "Do you think your mom will say yes, Merlin?" the man asked anxiously. 

  Merlin merely purred in response at the attention it was getting, closing his eyes in bliss. The man humored him for a bit if only to delay a rejection he could possibly get. 

  Oh, god, I'm being a coward, he thought. An indecisive coward. 

  Merlin perked his head up and stared at the man. The cat seemed to agree with him, he thought gloomily. 

  The cat jumped back to the ground, sniffing the air and looking around. The man watched Merlin's odd movements before he broke into a run to the kitchen and out in the back. Puzzled at Merlin's sudden bolting, the man followed the cat sedately to the backyard. 

  "Merlin?" he called when he heard a loud and almost incessant yowl from the cat. Must have scented a prey, he thought. 

  And upon walking out to follow, what greeted him was…

  A line. 

  The man stared, stupefied. Line was putting it mildly. It was glowing in an orange hue, for god's sake! It was floating, he supposed, like a tear of some sort in the middle of—he didn't know, space, maybe? 

  "What the hell?"

  Merlin continued to yowl on the ground, encircling the line. If the man didn't know better, he'd say that the cat was excited at the discovery, like it was just handed a new toy. Merlin's pupils were round, illuminated by the reflection of the orange light. He looked up in wonder and awe. 

  It was unnatural, indescribable by words—and the man has plenty of those—yet his hand itched to reach out, to touch and see how it would feel. 

  Curiosity killed the cat, they said, though in this case, its victim was the man instead. 

  "No, Samuel, don't!"

  The last thing he heard was Rowena's warning that came a little too late. 

  ***

Dean woke with a pounding headache. 

  He groaned, sitting up from the cold hard floor and…

  Where in the world was he? 

  Dean looked around his surroundings wildly and noticed that not far from him was someone lying face down and—God, the guy wasn’t dead, was he? 

  He was saved from the trouble of checking for a pulse when the man twitched and shifted on his back, groaning aloud and blinking awake before shooting up in a sitting position and finally noticing Dean. 

  “You too, huh?” Dean said. 

  “What?” the man asked. “What do you mean by that? Where are we?”

  “My guess is as good as yours, man. I just woke up a minute earlier.”

  The man made a move to stand, straightening on his feet. He was tall, and Dean himself was tall. Dean respectfully didn’t take note of the atrocious purple suit and the hideous man-bun that got messed up. 

Just when Dean was having the impression that the man was posh with the getup and all, he approached Dean and stooped down to lend him a hand. Dean thanked him, patting away the dirt from his coat. 

  He got a better look of the area once he was standing and woah, the number of vintage cars he could see everywhere should be enough to trigger some kind of familiarity; it didn’t. They seemed to be in some kind of a large, rich man’s garage. 

  “Battery’s dead,” he heard the man mutter while tapping on his phone. 

  Dean checked his. “Mine too.” 

  His watch was ticking at 7:42 PM, and the last time he checked it had been somewhere around 11:30 PM. Dean couldn’t believe he was out cold for almost a day. Whatever tranq they administer to him, it must have been enough to knock out at least a baby elephant.

  “Are we kidnapped or something?” he asked aloud, mostly to himself. 

  The man ran his hand through his hair, his loose man-bun gone. “It’s what I think as well but the lack of bindings and the presence of a kidnapper suggest otherwise.”

  “Or this is some kind of Saw shit,” Dean suggested. At the man’s puzzled expression, Dean waved his hand. “Nothing. It’s a bad joke.”

  “Are you alright, at least? No injuries on you?” the man asked. 

  “Headache from waking up that’s ebbing away, thankfully,” Dean answered honestly. “Other than that, nothing that I know or can feel on me. You?” 

  “Mild headache. Nothing more,” the man said. He closed his eyes briefly. “Um, I know this is a weird situation we find ourselves in, but if we’re going to work together, might as well get to know each other’s names.” He extended out his hand. “I’m Sam.”

  “Dean.” Dean shook the hand. “Dean Winchester-Novak,” he said fully before he could hold himself back. Force of habit. 

  Sam frowned. “Winchester?” He smiled amiably. “Are you the Winchester one? Because my name is Sam Winchester.”

  “Seriously? Yeah, I’m the Winchester. What are we, some kind of distant relatives?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. Lots of Winchesters in the States alone, but, yeah, that’s some coincidence.” 

  “I don’t know, man. It’s interesting to find out. Sucks it’s this way, though,” Dean said regretfully. He spotted a door at the far end of the garage. “Think that one’s locked?”

  Sam followed his line of sight, deep in thought. “Only one way to find out.”

  Apprehensively, they approached the door. Dean kept his eye open for any traps because you’d never know; better be prepared, right? There weren't any visible cameras that he could see at a glance so there was that. 

    Dean twisted the knob, half-expecting an explosion or poison spikes or whatever this possibly rigged doorknob could release. 

  Nothing came. 

  Sam peered at the long hallway ahead and gave an all-clear sign. Tentatively, they exited the garage and traversed the corridor whilst frequently looking behind their backs. It was eerily quiet and a bit dark, and it felt like they were actually the one trespassing in someone else’s property. It was ridiculous. 

  There was another long hallway when they turned at the bend, though this time there was a light at the far end of it. Cautiously, they approached the room, a little emboldened since they haven't encountered anyone or anything so far, and noticed that it was a kitchen with a man standing there, his back turned as he prepared coffee. 

  When the man turned around, Dean couldn't keep down his relief. "Cas," he said with a wide grin and rushed to meet him in a tight embrace. 

  Cas was taken aback, a deep frown etched on his face and was about to ask when Dean had beaten him to it. 

  "Cas, what's going on? Where are we? I woke up in the garage of this place with Sam here. Oh, yeah, this is Sam. Sam Winchester—can you believe it?" The words rushed out of Dean. "Sam, this is Castiel Novak. Cas for short. He's my husband."

  "I'm your what?"

  Sam genially extended a hand in which Cas shook dumbly. "Nice to meet you, Cas."

  Cas glanced confusedly between Sam and Dean, studying them carefully as if trying to figure them both, particularly the one they were wearing. "I don't understand. Is this what you call a prank?"

  "What? What you mean pra—"

  "Hey, Cas, you done there?" came a male voice from outside. "We're just—"

  Sam and Dean turned to the source of the voice and found two men standing there. 

  Two men who have their faces. 

  What the hell. 

  ***

  “This is like The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, isn’t it?” Cas heard the other Dean say. 

  “What part of the alternate universe you don’t understand?” Dean retorted. “You and the Sam here with you are our alternate versions.”

  “I think it’s like in the comic books,” Sam in the purple suit said. “For example, Peter Parker is the Spider-Man in his world but there’s another world where it’s his girlfriend Gwen Stacy who’s the Spider-Woman instead.” At the blank stare he got from the other three, he sheepishly added, “It’s a popular thing in our world. I used to be a fan when I was a kid—which isn’t the point, right.” He cleared his throat. “So. You said that you’re our counterparts, and you two are brothers?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Aren’t you?”

  “We just met today, actually. I think Dean here is from another separate world that is not from where I came from.”

  "Alright, stop. This is going to be confusing. I am Dean, and my brother here is Sam. Other Sam, we're calling you Sammy. Other me, you're Squirrel."

  "Why am I called Squirrel?"

  "I didn't make the rules."

  "You just did."

  "Dean," Sam interrupted with a sigh. "Sorry. Is Deanno fine by you?"

  "That's much better."

  "Yeah, you look like a 'Deanno'." Dean snickered. 

  Sam leveled his brother a stare.

  "What's the deal with you two, anyway?" Deanno asked, ignoring Dean. He gestured around himself. "Like, is it your family's thing to kidnap your counterparts?"

  "What? No. No one's kidnapping anyone," Sam defended. “Look, like you, we honestly don’t know how you got here either. What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

  “I was driving home from an event,” Deanno recalled. “I might have stopped on the road. It was, uh—I thought I saw something.” 

  “Saw what?”

  “Wait,” Sammy cut in. “That thing you saw… It didn’t happen to be a line, right? Like a tear in space or something.”

  Deanno snapped his fingers. “Yes! That was it. Big orange line thingy!”

  Sam and Dean shared a look. 

  “It was a rift,” Cas spoke for the first time. “You two encountered rifts in space, portals to another world which is… here.”

  “What happened on our side then? Did it remain open?” Sammy asked Cas. 

  “I checked the garage. There are no rifts open there. It’s safe to assume both are closed,” Cas answered. 

  “That’s good.” Sammy sighed in relief. “I mean, my girlfriend’s probably worried to death after she saw me touching the rift, but at least she didn’t follow and possibly landed somewhere.” 

  “And my husband’s bound to be doing the same by now after I left a voicemail I was on my way home and did not arrive.” Deanno rubbed his face. “Fuck.”

  “Woah, wait, husband?” Dean reacted. 

  Deanno gestured at Cas. “Yeah, him.” 

  Dean whirled incredulously at Cas. “Hey, Cas is nobody’s husband!” 

  “Well, not him exactly, but my husband’s name is Castiel Novak. I suppose he’s my Cas’s counterpart then.” Deanno addressed Cas. “But are you really not my Cas? ‘Cause I have to say, you got his character from that adorably confused frown and the trenchcoat.”

  Cas didn’t know what to make of the wink sent his way. 

  “Can you not—he’s not your Cas, alright? For one thing, he’s a freaking angel.”

  “So? My husband is too! He’s a saint!” 

  “I think Dean means to say that I am a literal angel,” Cas put in. “Which I am. I am an angel of the Lord.”

  “Oh,” Deanno said. “My Cas is a theology professor. He’s very much human except in bed—”

  “Dude, TMI!” 

  Hm. It seemed that his alternate self has quite a prowess in copulation, Cas mused. Interesting. 

  Sammy looked like he was embarrassed to be acquainted with the other Dean while Sam wasn’t sure whether to cringe or laugh. Cas believed it was the latter given that Sam was hiding his sniggering behind his fist. 

  “Okay, enough of that,” Sam said, thankfully. “I think it’s safe to assume that you two are our non-hunter versions.”

  “Is that what you do? Hunting?” Sammy asked. “Like professional deer-hunters?”

  “Uh, no. Dean and I are hunters of the supernatural. This place is more or less our home and headquarters.” 

  “You hunt supernatural creatures like vampires and werewolves?”

  Sam nodded. He was thoughtful for a second. “You don’t… Have you ever encountered any supernatural in your world?”

  “No,” Sammy said, eyes wide in awe. “Your job—I thought that’s only something I’ll read in books or watch in films. It sounds exciting!” 

  “It’s dangerous,” Sam told him. “We also lost our family and some friends in our line of work.”

  “Oh.” Sammy’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

  “Thank you. It’s already quite some time now. Doesn’t mean it’s no longer painful though,” Sam said, smiling tightly. A somber mood fell on them. “How about you? Lawyer?”

  “Ah, no. I thought about continuing to law before and realized that if I did, I would have plenty of lives on my hands in that line of career. I didn’t think I could handle that kind of responsibility,” Sammy said wryly. “I took creative writing instead, and now I’m a book writer with a few books under my belt.” He chuckled shyly.

  “It’s not something I saw myself as, but I’m happy for you,” Sam said genuinely. 

  “What about you, Deanno, what do you do?” Dean asked.

  “I own a small business,” Deannos said vaguely. “I used to be a car mechanic.” 

  “What kind of business?”

  “The car manufacturing kind.”

  “That’s far from a small business,” Dean deadpanned. “We get it, you two are our rich selves. We can handle the bragging.” 

  “Are you kidding me?” Deanno snorted.  “Okay, so maybe we pride ourselves in being successful, but we work hard to get to it. The same way you apparently do as well, except you two put your lives on high risk every single time. Now, I don’t know how much hunters get paid for, but I think your jobs are nothing on us.” 

  Sam fell silent while Dean looked startled before catching himself and settling for appearing chastised instead. 

  “I guess you’re not so bad,” Dean muttered. He knocked on the table. “So what now?”

  “You got beer?” Deanno asked. 

  “We do.” 

  Cas watched the four of them file back to the kitchen, smiling a little as he followed them sedately. 

  The tension was finally diffused. Now, on to the solution to get the two home. 

***

Sammy almost forgot the small box in his pocket. 

  He pulled it out and opened it. The ring remained safely settled within. He pocketed it with a sigh. Sam and Dean and Cas were good people—like men from fiction but good people nonetheless. Sammy’s imaginative brain that thrived on fantasies for future story plots couldn’t help but drink in all the knowledge Sam shared with him about this world. It was amazing, the elements of it all, from the creatures that existed aside from the humans and to the magic and beings that governed this universe. 

  Okay, so God being their present enemy was concerning, but still. 

  He would have thought that he was dreaming, but a pinch on his arm said otherwise. It occurred to Sammy he was probably the first man to discover the truth of the theory on Multiverse. He was exactly living a comic book or a fictional storyline right now. It was a paradise for a writer like him!

  And yet… And yet he just wanted to go home to Merlin and to Rowena. 

  “Oh, wow,” Sam suddenly said. Sammy noticed him looking at his pocket. 

  “It’s, um... I was actually planning to ask the big question before I arrived here,” Sammy told him. He sat comfortably in his borrowed clothes (the choices were flannels of varying colors, not that he minded) across Sam who poured two cups of coffee, one for each of them. “Thank you. I’m not really a heavy drinker. I’m a lightweight.”

  “Somehow, I can see that,” Sam said with a grin. “I drink moderately unlike Dean. He’s not hearing me whenever I say we’re not getting any younger.” 

  Sammy chuckled. He was an only child himself, but he thought that if he had an older brother he would either be like Deanno or Dean. There would be no in-between.  

  “How long have you been together?” Sam asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Three years,” Sammy said fondly. “We’re already living together and have a cat.” He glanced down on his drink. "I miss them, but to be honest, I don't know how to pop the question when I come back."

  "I don't think there's a formula on how," Sam offered sympathetically. "It's not easy, but if you already made up your mind to ask, then it should come to you naturally."

  "Thank you," Sammy replied sincerely. "If my Dad is still around, I would've asked him for advice. Bobby was helpful with this kind of thing." 

  Sam perked up in surprise. "Your Dad is Bobby Singer?" 

  "Pretty much. My real Dad, John, died of a heart attack when I was six months old. Bobby was a family friend and raised me with his wife, Karen, and my mother, Mary. It sounded weird but they made it work between themselves," Sammy told him. “Bobby was the one who got me into books, mostly sci-fi, fantasy, and mythology. That might have influenced me into being a writer as well.”

  “Bobby, huh? We had a Bobby Singer too, and like yours, he was our surrogate dad. He died eight years ago, and John five years before him,” Sam shared. “Mom’s case was a bit complicated. She died when I was six months old and got resurrected four years ago and died again last year.” Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I told you, it’s complicated.” 

  “I shouldn’t be surprised by now,” Sammy murmured. “I know I’m only saying this because I don’t live here, but the writer side of me actually finds this world fascinating already based on what you told me so far. It’s like there’s an itch in me to explore this world.” 

  “I understand,” Sam said. “It’s not the safest place, but I love it. This is our world, and it has seen a lot of close calls in the last few years, but this is home, you know? Dean and I don’t see ourselves wanting to replace it with a better one, a more normal one. It’s funny because I used to think it hated us with everything life had thrown us so far. Then you find out that it’s not the world or life, but it’s God himself.” 

  Sammy nodded solemnly. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this but I don’t doubt that you’ll give God hell.” Sam's expression lightened. “I’m lucky to lead a different life because if I’m in your shoes, I don’t think I can have the same lifestyle as you do. Frankly, the brave one between my girlfriend and me is her. She’s more decisive and confident, and she’s the kind of independent woman who learns and moves on easily from her mistakes. It’s the main reason why I’m uncertain to ask her to marry me. What if she doesn’t want to be tied down? Or, say that it’s fine by her, but is it okay if it’s with me? I’m not like her or you, Sam. I honestly still think she could have done better.”

  “But you’ll never know if you don’t ask her,” Sam reasoned. “You can’t let your insecurity eat you from within. It sounds to me that you two are fine in terms of communication. Maybe you can open this up to her as well.”

  Sam, who was fully aware that he couldn’t hold a decent length of relationship with a woman without his life as a hunter hindering it, couldn’t believe that he was hearing himself giving advice in romance. To another version of himself even. Strange times. 

  “Is it Jessica?” Sam decided to ask; he was curious, sue him. “It’s ages ago since I’ve been in a committed relationship myself, but Jessica is the last woman I saw myself having a future with.”

  Sammy frowned. “It’s not her, though I recall knowing a Jessica back in college.” He reached for his wallet to show a picture of Rowena. “Actually, her name is—”

  The bunker’s siren suddenly blared, and the kitchen was illuminated by the warning red lights that darkened the room and lit the hallways. 

  “What’s going on?” Sammy asked when he stood abruptly with Sam. 

  “It’s the bunker’s alarm,” Sam told him, pulling out a gun from his waist. “Stay close to me. I think we got an intruder.”    

***

Deanno whistled at the impala. “This is your ride? Sweet.”

  “That’s my Baby.” Dean stood straighter in pride. “Been taking care of her for as long as I remember, even before Dad passed her down to me.”

  “Inherited cars are often the most taken care of and loved,” Deanno said factually. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of model back home. I should propose this.” 

  “What kind do you drive then?”

  “A ‘78 Lincoln,” Deanno said, much to Dean’s utter distaste. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. My husband chose it.”

  “That’s equivalent to Cas’s pimpmobile.”

  Deanno laughed. “Pimpmobile is the endearment we have for it, alright. What can I say? It’s reliable. And at least it ain’t a Fiat.”

  Dean was inclined to agree with the last one. He wouldn’t be caught with a ten-foot pole with that vehicle. 

  “Everything in here belongs to you, your brother, and Cas then?” Deanno gestured at the other cars. 

  “They’re all here when we inherited the place,” Dean told him. “We use them as spares.” 

  “And you call me rich.”

  “You’re the one with a large business.”

  “We expanded just recently,” Deanno allowed. “But we’re not there with the big players yet.”  

  Dean grunted. Business wasn’t a forte of his, though that was largely because he never bothered to find out. Who knows? 

  Deanno was fine, Dean supposed; a little uncharacteristic for Dean to consider him another self but then again their circumstances were vastly different too. 

  On their way back inside, Deanno told him that he was raised by Mary after John died in a car accident. Mary was a handy woman who learned the rudimentary of car mechanics after John passed and left the startup company he had invested in. It had been a rocky start for both the family and the business, but with some help from friends like Bobby and his wife, Jody, they managed to make it into a stable business. 

  Deanno was put in college, initially for a degree in mechanical engineering until he had thought long and hard and went for business administration with a major in marketing instead. He said that it was the best decision he made since that was also how he met Cas after a series of girlfriends and random hookups.

  “Right,” Dean said flatly. “Your husband.”

  “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal to you, Dean,” Deanno said seriously. “This is not homophobia, is it?”

  “Of course not,” Dean replied shortly. No, it wasn’t that at all. 

  “Then what is it?” 

  He was spared the chance to answer when Jack walked in the war room, staring between the two Deans that he was seeing. Cas was close behind him, nodding at them. 

  “Hello,” Jack greeted them indifferently. 

  “I explained to Jack the situation,” Cas said. “He wanted to help but Billie specifically told him not to use his powers.” 

  “But we can still look for an alternative to bring you and the other Sam to your respective worlds,” Jack said. “Although it might take some time.”

  “Not like we have a choice, right?” Deanno smiled wryly. “Don’t sweat yourself, kid.”

  “I’ll be talking to Billie for the next step,” Jack told them, excusing himself. “Later.”

  “I’ll come with Jack,” Cas said. “If you need me, simply knock on Jack’s door.” 

  "Sure, Cas," Deanno replied on behalf of Dean. He mock-saluted, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Jack and Cas go. "We'll be here too if you need anything," he hollered after them. 

  "Can you stop doing that?"

  "Doing what?" Deanno asked innocently. 

  "That." At Deanno's straight face and the raised eyebrow, Dean elaborated, "The flirting."

  Deanno snorted. "C'mon. All in good fun."

  "You have a husband."

  "And I'm flirting with someone who's technically him but an actual angel." Deanno paused to consider for a moment. "Wait. Is that why?" A smirk formed on his lips. "You're jealous."

  "I most certainly am not," Dean said a little too quickly. 

  "See, that's the thing. You won't be doing that if you already bagged him," Deanno pointed out pityingly. 

  "Alright. That's it. No more of this topic."

  "Eh. Fine by me," Deanno allowed easily. "So who's Jack?"

  "It's a long story."

  "You can summarize," he suggested. 

  Dean sighed tersely. He should get this out of the way. "He's Lucifer's son biologically. Cas is the Dad he recognizes," he said gruffly. "He's half-human and half-archangel, and he doesn't have a soul right now."

  "Oh."

  "Yep. That's our lives."

  "Yeah. Sorry man, I won't be touching that subject too much," Deanno muttered. "I just thought the kid is yours and Cas's."

  "Cas's, not mine," Dean reminded him tersely. 

  "No, like, Jack was from both you and him."

  "What?" Dean exclaimed once he understood what Deanno was implying. "Where in the world are you getting these ideas?"

  "Hey, now. You're the one who said he's an angel."

  Dean wanted to bleach his mind when it began forming a certain image. "Jesus Christ. Cas is a guy! And he's wearing a male vessel!"

  "How about angel magic?"

  "Angel mag—" At this point, Dean believed that Deanno was sent to make his day even more difficult. "Okay. If that is even friggin’ possible, Cas and I are not together that way.”

  “Why not, Dean?”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Weak argument. My Cas is also my best friend. What’s your better excuse?”

  “How about: this is a different world, with me living a different life with different circumstances,” Dean said a matter-of-factly. “I am not you, Deanno. I am not some kind of business man with a college degree and a peaceful married life where the most exciting thing that happened to him is accidentally jumping in a portal to another world.”

  A small empathetic smile was the last thing Dean expected to get. “And doesn’t that tell you something that despite the completely different lives we have, the one thing we have in common is Cas?”

  Deanno was right, Dean was aware, and because Deanno was right and his statement was forcing Dean to reexamine things that he didn’t want to in the middle of their crisis right now, Dean was irritated and slowly but surely coming close to being mad. 

  Fortunately for Dean, he was, once again, saved by the bell. Literally. Or saved by the bunker’s alarm, to be exact. 

  Red lights fell down in the war room in an instant, alerting both of them. Amidst the siren, there were scuffling noises against metal. 

  “Dean, what’s that?” Deanno asked cautiously. Dean wasn’t sure if he was asking about the alarm or the sound along with it.  

  “Shit. Intruder.” Dean reloaded his pistol. He reached for another one and tossed it to Deanno. “Take that. We’re gonna need it.” He gestured for Deanno to stay close. 

  “I hope not,” he heard Deanno whisper. 

“And I hope that we won’t need anything stronger than a gun.” 

  Dean crept nearby the stairs leading up to the entrance. From his position, he could see no sign of forced entry. He peered upstairs for any movement. Nothing. 

  Dean was on an even higher alert, the alarm ringing incessantly in his ears. “Let’s go get the others. Something’s wro—”

  A huge black mass collided against Dean, sending him skidding across the floor and crashing him against a marble pillar. 

  “Dean!” 

  Deanno fired three shots at the… thing that tackled Dean down. It whirled at him, its attention was on him in an instant, growling and ready to pounce.  

  It was a fucking black panther. 

  “Take him down, Merlin,” commanded a voice.

  Deanno stood frozen at the huge animal lunging towards him. Its weight slammed him down on the floor where his head smacked loudly he swore he saw dark spots on his vision. Deanno fought back against the unconsciousness and was met face-to-face with sharp rows of teeth glistening with saliva and predatory golden eyes that considered Deanno as the prey.

  “G-Good kitty,” Deanno attempted. The panther snarled, its breath hot on his face. He decided to shut up instead. 

  “Where is he?” came above the same voice from before. 

  Under the red light, Deanno realized that it was a woman in a black dress. Purple lights danced around her hands, poised to attack. 

  “I won’t ask again, where is Sam Winchester?” said the woman furiously. 

  “Sam?” Deanno clarified. “You know Sam?”

  A loud piercing sound rang within the bunker, so deafening that it broke the lightbulbs and the nearby glasses. It was enough to bring the woman on her knees before she snapped her head upwards, her ears bleeding, and sent a spike of purple lightning to someone above. 

  Deanno covered his head when plasters and debris fell on him. To his amazement, though, nothing hit him and the weight on his chest lessened. 

  “Don’t touch him,” warned a different voice, a much familiar one.  

  Deanno blinked. “Cas?”

  “Dean.” Cas—his Cas, Deanno was a hundred percent sure—crouched down to check on him. “Are you alright?”

  “I am, but we’ll talk later—look out!”

  The warning seemed to be unnecessary when the purple lightning from the woman hit Cas on his back and he didn’t flinch one bit. 

  “What are you?” the woman hissed. The black panther retreated to her side, snarling ferociously at them. 

  Cas’s answer was a thin, pointed blade that appeared on his hand in a blink. A flicker of recognition flashed on the woman’s face. 

  “Impossible,” she growled. 

  “If that’s what you think,” Cas shot back evenly. 

  There was a large shadow that loomed above them, forming into the shape of a pair of huge wings that encompassed the vicinity. 

  “Stop!” 

  Jack, the kid from earlier, emerged from another part of the room with eyes lit brightly in gold. Cas turned to him with wariness but more so his fascination with the newcomer and the realization as to what Jack was.

  There were hurried footsteps that followed, and Deanno didn’t have to look to know who arrived. With the present amount of people, it was bound to be a shitfest. 

  “Rowena?!”

  The woman abruptly stopped, eyes darting past Cas and to the two men who came in. “Sam?” she whispered before confusedly glancing between the two Sam Winchesters. “Who is this fake?” she demanded. 

  The fighting had thankfully stopped, but another set of explanations was clearly needed. Again.

  Deanno groaned from the ground. He wished he was as lucky as Dean to be unconscious for all of these.

[fangirlingtodeath513]

Paper Hearts | a 15x03 coda

“Would you have done it? If you were in my place and it was Cas that had to sacrifice himself, would you have killed him?” Sam’s voice barely cutting through the air as he says it. Dean almost doesn’t hear it, but his stupid heart clenches in his chest and he knows the answer immediately. No sense in lying now, not after everything that's happened.

“No,” he answers without hesitation, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “No,” he repeats a little more forcefully, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Then don’t you dare stand there and go on about how we won. This isn’t a win, this is so far from a win, Dean.” Sam puts his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers through his hair. “Once again, Chuck’s stupid prophecy comes true. We were—it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I was never going to kill her,” he mutters, gripping his hair loosely in his hands.

Dean thinks about leaving, but this is his little brother, he can’t leave Sam alone like this. He crosses the room in two steps, sitting next to Sam on the bed and pulling him into a tight hug. Sam resists but only for a moment before he grabs at Dean’s shirt and breaks down. He soaks Dean’s shoulder with tears and Dean’s breathing in more hair than oxygen, but it doesn’t matter. Sam just had to watch the woman he loves die, he can deal with a little discomfort if it means his brother gets to grieve properly.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s not a win at all. Never seems to be, with us. We always manage to avert the crisis, but usually by sacrificing someone we love. Our ourselves.”

Sam nods once, sucking in a deep, shaky breath. He clutches Dean for another couple of minutes before he pulls away and dries his face off on the arm of his flannel, eyes downcast. “Thanks. That helped a little, actually.”

Dean’s mouth quirks in a smile as he squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be in the library.”

X

Sam finds him in the gym three hours later when he goes in search of food. Everything’s destroyed—there are dents in the walls from where the weights had been bashed into the concrete, the punching bag is hanging limply on one of the two chains it normally hangs on, benches are overturned and mats are strewn haphazardly around the room. Dean’s sitting in the middle of all the chaos, head in his hands and shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Sam frowns, hesitating in the doorway. There’s no way Dean’s this upset about Rowena, he hadn’t even really liked her. He tended to only tolerate her because she was helpful to have around. Maybe this is Dean finally reacting to what Chuck’s done, it would make sense. None of them have really had the opportunity to digest what’s going on now, with God entirely against them and hell-bent on ending the world and resetting his story.

After several minutes lingering in the doorway, Sam decides to brave whatever Dean’s about to throw at him and take a few steps into the room. Dean doesn’t look up, not even when Sam comes to a stop in front of him.

“Dean?” Sam says softly, crouching down with a frown. “You okay? What happened?”

Dean swipes under his eyes angrily, running a hand through his hair. “Cas left. I was gonna come down here and work out some anger, but…” he waves a hand around the room, sniffing quietly. “Guess you see how well that worked.”

Sam’s brows furrow and he takes a seat in front of Dean. “What do you mean Cas left?”

“He left. Said Jack was gone and you an’ I had each other, so maybe it was time for him to move on.” Dean’s voice is bitter as he says it and his eyes stay locked on a patch of floor in front of him. Sam can’t tell if he embarrassed or still angry, or maybe both. Regardless, Dean had let him grieve before, and while Cas may not be dead, it’s still a loss.

“That’s what he said? There had to have been more of a reason than that.”

Dean stays silent this time, jaw twitching as he does his best to avoid Sam’s question. Right, so that’s a question for another time, then. Sam clears his throat, pushing himself to his feet. “I was getting kind of hungry, you want to go grab a bite to eat? Get some burgers or something? I’m craving some greasy diner food.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. He’s obviously been crying for a while, which hurts Sam to the core. He’s never actually seen Dean this upset before, not even after Charlie, not even after Mary. “You want greasy food? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Sam snorts. “It’s the end of the world, Dean. Might as well give up the healthy food and live a little before God smites us all.”

Dean gazes curiously at him for a moment before nodding once. “Yeah, diner food sounds good right about now. I’m gonna go change and stuff, I’ll meet you at the car.”

Dean doesn’t spare him a second glance as he rises to his feet and disappears down the hallway. Sam sighs, pulling out his phone as he heads for the garage.

Cas, you know you’re welcome here, right? Jack or no Jack, you’re family. Dean’s a wreck, just let me know you’re okay?

He doesn’t expect an answer as he unlocks the Impala and slides into the passenger’s seat but almost as soon as he touches the leather, his phone chimes.

I’m okay, Sam. I  think it’s best if I stay away. Call me if you need anything, though I don’t know how much longer I’ll be useful. My powers are fading.

Sam frowns and begins to type out an answer as Dean appears in the garage. Apparently, Dean and Cas aren’t in the best spot right now, so Sam tucks his phone away and smiles at his brother as he gets in the car. “Greasy diner food?”

“Greasy diner food,” Dean confirms, tapping the button that opens the garage door and pulling the Impala onto the road.