#save me inexperienced sam winchester

[sluttyimpala]

17 year old sam REALLY wanting to fuck dean because of teenage angst and ego. 21 y/o dean being like okay sure. sam becoming nervous, clumsly fingering dean until his big brother literally grabs his hand to do do it for him. sam finishing prematurely (aka like 15 seconds into fucking dean). dean flipping them over and riding him despite it. sam begging for mercy and finishing another 2 times until dean cums

[rubyvhs]

stars (castiel novak)

pairing; castiel novak x reader tags; fluff, hardly any angst, inexperienced cas summary; you find cas after his argument with dean and one thing leads to another.

masterlist

Screw the Winchesters for ever hurting Cas. Dean just— he yells, and screams, and he doesn’t stop until he or the person in front of him are hurt. It sucks. Because more often than not, Sam or Cas are that person. Thank God Dean respects women as much as he does because a vamp nest i can take— a screaming fest? Sign me out.

But he isn’t easy on the boys, especially Cas. The angel had to prove himself to Dean— to all of us, really, so many times it should’ve worn him out years ago, but he’s still here, despite it all, and this is the thanks he gets for saving our asses all the time? It isn’t right.

Usually after Dean has an episode Cas likes to disappear. Sam went with his brother while I followed Cas to see that he’s thankfully still there. In the astronomy room. We found it a few months ago and I got to name it. The men of letters seemed to have a knack for stars because the projection on the ceiling is a live image of the stars at the moment. It’s beautiful. 

It’s also special. I’ve never sat in this room with anyone other than Cas. It’s our thing, at least for me, I’m not sure what his thoughts on the room are. 

“Cas?” He doesn’t look at me from his spot leaning on the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “Cas,” I whisper thoughtfully this time, and he faces me. “Can I sit?” 

He shrugs and it’s all the invitation I need. Castiel has learned to understand and deal with human emotions so well over the years that sometimes I forget he isn’t one. He’s responds to Dean so expertly. Especially Dean. Profound bond and whatnot. “Dean is being ridiculous, obviously.”

He doesn’t respond. “C’mon, you know how he is, he gets mad at something as. Waits for someone to blow up on—”

“I know that. I’m not sulking.”

“Then what are you doing here?” No response. “Cas, are you okay?”

“The stars, they’re beautiful.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to lie to you.” I sigh, moving only a little closer, “I do not care what Dean does, or his opinion on the matter, what I did was what we needed.”

“You almost melted the guy’s brain, but yeah, I get it.”

“He will live, and Dean will learn to be alright. It is you who I fear would not forgive me.” My eyes widened. Me? First of all, what the hell does that mean, since when does an Angel of the Lord care if I forgive him? Second, forgive him for what? I just said I get it. “You are the only soul on earth who I haven’t looked at directly.” 

My breath hitches in my throat and I can’t even process his words. I didn’t know he could even control that. “I can not control who’s souls I can and can not see— but for all the years I have been with the Winchesters they’ve been very open with me, they bared their souls to me. Well, Dean didn’t have a choice, but Sam saw Angels as some kind of saving graces, he eagerly showed me himself. You have too, to some extent, but I haven’t been able to let my grace free when I’m around you.”

That’s two years of holding his breath when I’m around. Two years of not being comfortable when I’m there and two years of no eye contact. Most of the time all I get is a glance. Most of the time I don’t get anything at all. 

“Why?”

“Because your soul will—” he lets out a small laugh (i decide it is my favorite sound in the world) and shakes his head, he whispers my name, “it will blind me.”

“Cas,” I mumble. We’re both moving closer. His lips are so close. “What does that mean?”

“That I’m scared to lose you as I am the Winchesters,” I swallow nothing and try to calm my nerves but he’s doing that thing Dean taught him with his eyes and they’re going from my lips to my eyes and fuck, its chemical. “I am worried to lose any part of you. Your affection for me, however different from mine to you.”

“Cas. Kiss me.” It takes him a while to understand that it’s an order, and that I am consenting, but when he does— God, I don’t want to say it’s fireworks (it is), or that his lips taste like cotton candy (they do, courtesy of Dean’s gum), or that it kind of maybe changes me completely. 

He pulls away first. “I tried when I was human, and once when I was an angel, a long time ago, but was that correct?”

I don’t know if I want to kiss him again or compliment and affirm to him that everything he does is correct till tomorrow. I choose the former but promise the latter that we will meet again. We move against each other, smoother than i ever have considering I don’t do this often, and he’s so good you would never know just how inexperienced he is. 

“My soul?” I smile into it.

“Blindingly beautiful.” I’m sure he can’t actually see it right at this moment with his eyes only half open to stare at my lips, but it’s enough for me.

It takes longer but I pull away this time. His hand is still on my cheek and he’s slowly pulling me in and out, just brushing his lips against mine while I try to talk. Where did he learn to do all of this? “Cas, what does— Cas—”

Talking’s always been overrated. Especially when we don’t have time.

[negans-lucille-tblr]

Go Easy | Sam Winchester Oneshot

Summary: Sam’s hiding a part of himself from his new, inexperienced girlfriend, but maybe he doesn’t have to. 

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

Tags: teasing, flirting, mentions of virginity, mentions of liking younger women, angst, mentions of BDSM, Dom/sub vibes, mild BDSM, bondage, fingering, p in v

WC: ± 2.8K A/Ns: This was commissioned by someone who would like to remain anonymous! Hope you like it!

Sam Winchester Masterlist

“So, how did you two meet again?” 

There’s a sparkle in Dean’s green eyes that Sam knows only too well means that Dean hasn’t forgotten at all, and he’s only asking the question for one reason; to tease the living fuck out of him. 

“Urm, at the college library,” Y/N replies softly, clearing her throat and offering his brother a polite smile as she reaches for her glass of wine. 

“Of course you did,” Dean chuckles, “so you’re one of these brainy young professors too?” 

“Urr…” Y/N glances nervously at him, and Sam knows it’s his turn to step in and save her. 

“No, actually, Y/N is a student,” Sam needlessly reminds his brother, unashamedly. 

The smirk instantly curls over Dean’s lips as he chuckles, shaking his head. “A student, Sammy? You’ve been working there for two months and you’re already sleeping with the students, why am I not surprised?” 

Sam’s brow instantly pulls into a frown as he shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that, De,” he protests, looking over to see Y/N is also confused by Dean’s comment. 

“What does he mean?” she asks, blinking at him. 

“Nothing,” Sam insists. “He’s just being an ass.” 

Dean continues to chuckle, reaching for his beer and taking a long swig before swallowing hard and licking his lips. “Listen, we can just address the elephant in the room, okay?” he grins, looking between them. 

“Dean, no,” Sam warns, hoping his brother will realise he is barking up the wrong tree completely right now and will back off. 

“Oh c’mon, Sammy, we shared a bedroom wall long enough for me to know what you’re into. You’re hardly shy about it. And we’re all adults here… at least…” his eyes land back on Y/N, and Sam’s jaw clenches. 

“Jesus, Dean, she’s more than legal,” Sam grunts, wishing his legs were just a few inches longer so he could kick his brother under the table. 

“Relax, I’m teasing you both,” Dean laughs easily, lounging back in his chair with his beer in hand. 

Sam glares over at his older brother for a moment, before looking across at Y/N to make sure she’s okay. She seems a little flustered, but before he can reach out to take her hand in hopes of relaxing her a little, she rises to her feet and softly excuses herself. Sam watches her leave, heading towards the bathroom, and then turns his attentions back to his brother. 

“Seriously, dude?” he huffs. “Now she probably thinks I’m some pervert.” 

“Well, from what I’ve heard–” 

“Dean, I’m serious,” Sam interrupts. 

“Oh, c’mon Sammy, you’re not exactly quiet about your… tastes,” Dean argues, smirking slightly. “I’m just saying that she’s exactly the kind of girl I thought you’d date.” 

“It’s not like that, De,” Sam protests, “not with her.” 

Dean cocks an eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe him. “So you’re telling me you’re not dating a younger woman who’s all quiet and reserved because she’s exactly the kind of girl who obeys your every command?” he mocks. 

“She’s not like that,” Sam continues to argue, and he thinks maybe Dean is finally believing him, because a small frown pulls on his brow.

“Wait… really? This isn’t one of your… kinky things?” 

“No, Dean,” Sam scoffs, still amused by Dean’s naivety even after all this time. Sam’s tried on more than one occasion to educate his brother on the lifestyle, but Dean couldn’t be further from Sam when it comes to things like this. “We’re actually dating, she’s actually my girlfriend,” he explains. “My very inexperienced girlfriend you’ve probably completely freaked out, so thanks for that.” 

“Inexperienced?” Dean blinks, but then another cheeky smile lights up his face. “Sammy, you dirty dog!” 

“Dean–” 

“Well, in my defense, dude, you don’t date much.” 

“You didn’t think it was weird I’d asked you to meet her?” Sam questions. 

“I don’t know what happens between you and these girls,” Dean protests, shrugging. He’s quiet for a moment, but then he seems to get a little more serious, playing with his beer bottle. “So, is she open to what you like, or…”

Sam can tell that it’s a genuine question, so he doesn’t roll his eyes or complain, instead he takes a deep breath and decides to answer honestly. “I doubt it, we’ve never talked about it.” 

“So you’d pack it all in for her?” he asks next. “Do you like her enough to do that?”

“Yeah, I think I would,” Sam nods honestly. 

“Well then, I’m sorry dude, didn’t mean to freak her out.” 

Sam looks towards the door leading down the hallway towards the bathroom and takes a deep breath. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he tells his brother, realising he’s only trying to convince himself more than Dean. 

Y/N has been even more quiet than usual as they clean up after dinner. With Dean now gone, Sam was hoping she’d be a little more confident, like he’d noticed her becoming in the recent weeks, but she doesn’t say much as she clears away plates and carries them out into the kitchen, placing them alongside the sink. He watches her begin to run the hot tap, filling the sink up with warm, soapy water, and leans in the doorway just observing for a moment or two, wondering how he’s going to approach this. 

“Hey, let me do that, it’s my place,” he protests, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her middle. 

“It’s fine,” she insists softly. Sam places a soft kiss to the back of her head, and he watches as her movements slow and she clears her throat. “Sam, what did your brother mean when he said he’s not surprised that I’m a student?” 

“Nothing,” Sam half lies. “He was just being an older brother and trying to embarrass me.” 

“So you’ve not been with other students?” she checks, turning herself around and stepping out of his embrace to face him. 

“No, not since I was a student myself,” he tells her honestly this time. 

“Students your own age?” she asks next, almost challengingly. 

“Pretty much,” he nods. “Y/N, I’m not into young girls or anything,” he laughs awkwardly. “There’s not even ten years between us, it’s not about that for me. Look… can we just forget the whole dinner, please?” he pleads, already exasperated. 

She’s been spooked enough for one night, she doesn’t need to hear all about Sam’s twisted, kinky fetishes too. He’s kept those a secret for a reason. He didn’t know it when he first started dating her, but Y/N had been a virgin before they met, and he could still count on one hand how many times they’ve had sex. If he was ever going to show her that side of him, it wouldn’t be now. 

“So you’re not into young virgin girls?” she asks bluntly, blinking at him. 

“No, absolutely not,” Sam protests immediately, the very implication making his skin crawl. “Firstly, I didn’t even know you were a virgin when we met. Secondly, you’re twenty two, you’re not even a teenager anymore–” 

“Okay,” Y/N interrupts. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a perv or anything, I just… when Dean said he knows what you’re into…” 

“He didn’t mean that,” Sam tries to explain. 

“Then what did he mean?” she presses, blinking at him again. 

Sam sighs heavily, not sure he can answer that honestly if he wants to keep her in the dark about his fantasies and desires. 

“Is it bad? Is that why you won’t tell me?” she implores. 

“No, it’s not bad,” he argues weakly, shaking his head. “I just don’t wanna freak you out, I know you’re new to all this.” 

“Maybe physically, but one of the perks to being late in the game means I’ve done a lot of research,” Y/N admits coyly. “So I’m not as naive as you think.” Sam’s eyebrows rise at her implication. “Just tell me, Sam, please?” she begs softly, a lot more seriously than before. 

Sam huffs a breath and licks his lips for a second, gathering his thoughts. 

“Usually, I like a certain… dynamic in the bedroom,” he tries to explain briefly. “But, I would never expect that from you, so I’ve never brought it up. I’m fine with the way things are between us,” he rushes to add for reassurance. 

“What kind of dynamic?” Y/N asks, seeming to ignore the second half of his comment. 

“Urm… me in charge… in control… y’know, pain for pleasure kind of thing,” he admits, feeling his cheeks heating up at his admission. Normally he’s a lot more sure of  himself, oozing confidence as he explains exactly how he expects it to go down between him and the girl he’s about to fuck. But Y/N is different, and he doesn’t want her running for the hills because of this. 

“So BDSM stuff?” she clarifies, biting her bottom lip. 

“Yeah, that stuff,” he nods. “So are you freaked out?” he asks, unable to stop himself. 

Y/N doesn’t answer at first, she just stares at him and swallows hard, and Sam’s pretty sure she’s about to break up with him, leave and never come back. But what actually happens takes him off guard, as his eyes follow her as she drops to her knees at his feet and settles into a kneeling position, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“What… What are you doing?” he stammers out, afraid that maybe she feels like she has to do this for him. 

“Something like this?” she checks. 

“You don’t have to–” 

“You don’t think I don’t know exactly what you want… Sir?” she asks softly, a tiny smirk beginning to spread over her lips. 

Instantly Sam’s cock begins to harden behind his jeans. It’s been a while since he’s seen a girl on her knees at his feet, and while he hears people call him Sir a lot thanks to his job, it feels so different hearing it come from her lips in that tone. 

“A-are you sure?” Sam checks sincerely for a moment. 

She doesn’t reply to begin with, she just reaches out, softly running her hand up his leg, over his thigh and towards the now obvious bulge in his pants. 

“Like I said, I’ve done my research, I know what I like the look of,” she explains, her hand now cupping his cock through the denim, making Sam’s head a little foggier. “I wanna know if it’s as good as it looks, I want you to teach me,” she purrs, blinking at him seductively. “Just go easy on me?” 

Sam reaches forward, cupping the side of her face. “I’ve got you, baby girl,” he confirms, feeling her lean into his touch. “I’ll guide you through it.” 

Your POV

Holy fuck. 

Sam’s teeth drag down your throat, his large hands finally releasing your wrists above your head, smoothing down your arms. 

“Leave them there,” he growls against your skin, his hands now finding your breasts, fondling them for a moment or two before reaching around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You moan, arching your back into him, your hands finding his long hair so you can card your fingers through it. “I said, leave them there,” Sam growls, instantly pinning your hands above your head once more. “Don’t make me tie them up.” 

Just the very thought of him tying you to the bed, making you completely at his mercy makes your insides flutter with even more arousal that pools between your bare legs. 

“Please do,” you find yourself gasping, your brain foggy with arousal and desperation. 

“You’d like that, hm?” he smirks, leaning back to look at you. “You’d like me tying you up, using you however I want?” You instantly nod, desperate for just that. “Use your words, baby girl… always use your words with me,” he commands. 

“Y-yes I want that,” you confirm verbally. 

“Sir,” he adds for you. 

“Sir,” you also add, breathlessly. You’d always liked the idea of calling a guy Sir in the bedroom, but you never thought it would be this much of a turn on.

You watch him climb off of you, now standing at the foot of his bed as he reaches down for his jeans on the floor, and without taking his eyes off of you, he grabs the belt still in the loops and pulls it free. The sight is near enough orgasmic as you once again arch your back and moan, desperate for some attention between your legs. 

Sam uses the tail of his belt to trail up your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake as you squirm underneath him. 

“Maybe one day we can use this for something a little more entertaining,” he ponders, a wicked smirk curling over his lips. “But for now, we can make good use of it in other ways.” 

You feel him wrap the leather around both your wrists, and with only a few tugs, you find yourself bound to the headboard, unable to move your hands very far; unable to touch him anymore. And suddenly, you want nothing more. His cock is hard and practically dripping with precum on your thigh, and you want to wrap your hand around it, to give him some relief. But he seems unfazed by the lack of attention it’s receiving, instead focused on your body, and the way it’s writhing underneath him. 

His hazel eyes scan over what feels like every single inch, and he hums in appreciation, his hands beginning to ghost over your skin. When his touch begins to trail lower than your belly button, you find your legs widening as if to encourage him between them. He seems to oblige without any further teasing, which you’re grateful for, because you’re not sure how much longer you can take this. Your head feels like it’s going to explode. Being at someone’s mercy is so much better than it had been in your head all those times you’d gotten yourself off to the fantasy, or touched yourself to those videos you used to be so ashamed about liking. 

“Someone’s wet,” he notes, a smug grin on his lips at the fact. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

You nod desperately, bucking your hips against his fingers, feeling him rub your clit as you begin to moan. 

“Yes, Sir,” you rush to confirm, just about mustering enough sanity to remember to use your words like he’d commanded. 

“If you like this, wait until I train you to be the perfect little slut for me,” he growls, and you gasp for air as his fingers push inside you with his words, your head spinning with the mixture of the sensation and the very thought of his words. “This body is perfect, and it’s all mine, isn’t it?” he asks, his eyes landing on yours. 

“All yours, Sir,” you confirm, breathlessly. “Please… please fuck me,” you find yourself begging, unable to take much more. You just want to feel him inside you; it’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, and you only wish you’d have met him sooner. 

“That’s not how you beg,” Sam growls, curling his fingers and making you cry out in pleasure. “Ask nicely, or I won’t fuck you at all.” 

“Please, Sir. Please will you fuck me? I need you to fuck me, please.” 

“That’s better,” Sam hums, removing his fingers and stroking his cock, slicking it with your juices from his fingers. “Such a good girl, I can tell you’re going to do so well,” he praises. 

He leans over you, teasing the tip of his cock through your arousal, softly pressing against your opening as he chuckles at your desperation. You buck your hips in hopes that he’ll slide deeper, but he holds back, smirking almost evilly down at you, clearly relishing in just what he’s driven you to. 

“Please, Sir,” you beg one last time, barely audible through your gasps for breath. 

Sam leans down, bringing his mouth close to your ear, his cock still only just inside you. “I love the way that sounds on your lips,” he breathes out, his cock throbbing as if to prove his point. “I can’t wait to show you exactly how I like it.” And just the thought of this getting even better, has you on the edge.

[samdeancrimespree]

thinking about stanford era again SORRY but. the boys entire life john trained dean too look out for sam. he thought something was after sam. and then sam, technically an adult but never to John, still skinny and inexperienced and soft, decided to leave. yes he said don’t come back. yes he had a hold over dean. but am i really expected to believe that dean, the john winchester whisperer, wouldn’t have been able to convince him to let dean go live with sam and make sure he was ok? it’s His Job. it’s clear that they had been hunting apart for some time before the pilot. so why would john keep dean away from sam? even if he had people “watching” sam from a distance, i fucking doubt the most paranoid man on earth, the man who hated 99.9% of hunters, would’ve had a bunch of friends to cash in 4-year-long favours with. i think if dean asked john to let him leave, the only reason john would’ve stopped him was as some weird punishment / bcs he was too angry at sam to care about his safety that much.

to me, there are 4 options. in order from most to least likely: dean a) spent wayyyy more time around stanford than he would ever admit b) was so destroyed by (what he saw as) sam’s abandonment of him that it broke his brain and he blindly followed johns orders for years, because he fully believed sam hated him and couldn’t live with having that confirmed c) couldn’t even bear to be in the same state as sam for at least a year because he has no impulse control and would’ve sought out the self-punishment of seeing his sam being happy and normal without him, but also would’ve never been able to leave him again or d) was trying to leave sam alone like sam wanted, and he trusted sam’s abilities because dean had trained him well and he could totally, definitely stand the idea that sam didn’t need him anymore (laughable)

not-quite canon compliant thoughts aside, i think it is completely impossible that they didn’t have a code for this too. like. To Me. dean drove to stanford to help sammy move in, and set up some sort of system with him where each month or whatever he would leave a message on deans phone with a code word so dean didn’t drive himself insane thinking he was dead. and that day was the best day of the month to him. and he didn’t answer the phone, because he knew sam didn’t want to talk to him, but he saved all those messages, even though they were like one word long.

[ladylilithprime]

A Fence Ain't A Comfortable Seat

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural: 

Pairing: background Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Bobby Singer Understands Shades Of Gray, Found Family Reunions, More Hurt/Comfort Than Fluff

Summary: When Bobby Singer got the call that one of his adopted sons had been shot, he couldn't have guessed that flying out to Palo Alto, California, would also put him back in contact with another pair of brothers he wished he could have adopted before their father got them killed.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 12: Shell

Read on AO3

THE HUNTER NETWORK in the United States was something of a joke, in that there was no actual official network. The closest folks got was the connections they made with the hunter who taught them or saved them, the hunters they crossed paths with working the same case, or the ones to whom they were introduced by either of the first two. Some of that had changed when John Castiel and James Constantine Novak had stumbled upon an old bunker guarded by a dryad that used to belong to a mostly defunct secret society of supernatural researchers and had promptly turned the location and "keys" over to one of their own hunter contacts, Robert Singer. Bobby had taken one look at the place and promptly relocated his operations from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to the more centrally-located Lebanon, Kansas, and resumed coordinating hunters and alibis from there where he had access to massive amounts of research and records from the Men of Letters to add to his own books and, once the mess of a library had been properly organized and cataloged, used to assist other hunters who called him for help.

So Bobby wasn't too surprised to get a call on one of his phone lines from an unfamiliar number, expecting to find some young newbie on the other end when he answered with a brusque, "Singer."

"Jimmy Novak has been shot."

Bobby's knuckles went white gripping the phone. The voice on the other end was deep, stern, and in no way sounded inexperienced or unsure. "Who--"

"He's alive and in surgery. His brother Cas directed me to call you, said you would want to know that Roy Buckner shot Jimmy when he and his partner, Walter Leming, attacked and attempted to kill me for being a natural witch. Jimmy--" The voice hitched, abruptly sounding much younger despite the deep timbre. "Jimmy got in between me and Buckner's shotgun. Cas knocked him and Leming out and restrained them before calling the ambulance while I attempted to stabilize Jimmy. My brother lives next door and heard the gunshot, so he rushed over and called the police when he found out what happened. Buckner and Leming are in lock-up as far as I know or care, but if Jimmy dies then my brother and I intend to press murder charges."

"If Jimmy dies, those idjits won't live long enough to be charged, I'll string 'em up myself!" Bobby growled. "What the hell did they think they were doing, charging in like half-cocked greenhorns and shooting at a natural witch who has other hunters vouching for'im?!"

"You'll have to ask them that," the man on the other end of the line sighed. "They aren't the first hunters to hear 'witch' and come out shooting without caring about the 'natural' part. Nice change of pace when Jimmy and Cas weren't like that."

"Taught 'em better than that," Bobby huffed, feeling something in his chest relax a little at the softness that entered the man's voice. "They're good boys... good hunters, too. World could use more people like 'em."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment, and then the man said in a low voice, "I'll admit, I wouldn't have been completely willing to call you if Cas hadn't told me you practically raised him and Jimmy after their parents died. I knew you had been associated with John Winchester but not why you dropped contact, but if you managed to raise those two then you couldn't be that bad."

"I got my momented," Bobby admitted with a grimace. He'd been young and stupid once, which was how he ended up having so much knowledge to pass on to other idjits before they made the same mistakes. "I used to look after Winchester's boys now and again until the bastard got a stubborn hair up his ass about folks with natural powers like psychics. Seemed to be under the impression these things were contagious or something, didn't want his boys near anyone with a lick of psychic potential, like just having powers could pull a fella left of center until he wasn't human anymore, damned idjit." He sighed, closing his eyes and reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. Thinking of Winchester while Jimmy was lying in some hospital with a hunter's shotgun round in him was messing with his head, enough that he ended up blurting out, "Keep wondering if I hadn't sent him running, maybe I could'a saved his boys before he killed 'em."

"He didn't, you know."

"He dragged 'em around hunting when they were just kids, made them live the hunting life with no alternative," Bobby huffed. "He as good as killed them, even if he didn't pull the trigger."

"I didn't say he didn't kill us for lack of trying," the man on the other end of the line said.

Bobby froze.

"John Winchester was the first hunter to try and shoot me through the head for being a witch," the man went on softly, every word ripping through the shell around Bobby's heart he'd tried to build when the rumors went around that John fucking Winchester had killed himself after killing his sons. "When I stopped the bullet from hitting me, Dean hit him and got me out and helped me hide so Dad couldn't find me. You'll have to ask him what happened after that until Dad was killed and he joined me out here, but Dean's alive too. I know he was always your favorite, Uncle Bobby...."

"Sammy," Bobby choked out. He swallowed. Coughed. Swallowed again. "I'll be on the next plane out. Where'm I flying?"

THE PLANE FROM Wichita, Kansas, to San Jose, California, took over six hours from take-off at nine the next morning, complete with a stopover in Denver to change planes and a delayed flight. It made him glad he'd foregone bringing any checked bags despite the lack of weapons that gave him as he shouldered his carryon and made his way past the baggage claim area and out of the terminal to the street, eyes scanning for anyone who looked like the man he'd been told would be waiting for him.

He spotted the sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala before he recognized the man standing against her. The resemblance to John was striking - military haircut and black leather jacket over jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt - but the casual lean and relaxed shoulders were a far cry from the uptight, paranoid bastard Bobby had run off his property. Dean Winchester didn't look much like the too-thin boy with haunted eyes and a forced cocky smirk who stuck close to his little brother as much as possible anymore, either, at least until he looked up and Bobby caught sight of that same cocky smirk that looked much more at home on his adult face.

"Well, you sure haven't changed a bit," Dean greeted him as he approached. His eyes narrowed as Bobby drew close enough not to be shouting at and he added, "Christo."

"Got more gray hair under my cap than I used to," Bobby answered him, smirking a little at the sign of lingering hunter paranoia. "You, though! You went and grew up when I wasn't looking!" He reached Dean and, hoping the cover of the airport would grant him forgiveness for being a damn sappy idjit, pulled the young man into a tight hug. "Thank God you're alive, boy... when I heard the rumors about John...."

"Cas and Jimmy mentioned something about us being presumed dead by the greater hunting community," Dean hummed, giving Bobby's back a couple of firm pats. "Jim Murphy's known where we were, but we've kept our communications limited to our aliases since I got here. Safer for Sammy, for multiple reasons."

"How's he doing, really?" Bobby asked, filing that little tidbit away to pursue later.

He had meant Sam, but as Dean nudged him towards the passenger door of the Impala he said, "Out of surgery and stable. Sam and Cas are staying with him in the room because every time he's woken up he's tried to get up and find them if they weren't."

"Makes sense," Bobby sighed, settling himself into the Impala and giving her dashboard a surreptitious pat. "Can't separate Cas and Jimmy when one of them's ill or injured, and if Jimmy's diving in front of a shotgun blast for Sam he ain't gonna be satisfied just being told Sam's okay without seeing him. 'Specially if the hospital's got him on any opiate painkillers, messes with that 'twin link' those boys have and makes 'em both loopy."

"Most of the docs and nurses know Sammy, so they're deferring pain management to him and his potions. Cas insisted," Dean confided as he gunned the motor and pulled smoothly out into traffic to leave the airport. "Think he might be trying to prove to Sammy that he doesn't blame him for Jimmy getting shot."

"And the two dumbasses who shot him?" Bobby asked in a low voice.

"Still alive," Dean huffed. "Near thing, way Cas was when I got there. Almost didn't recognize 'em through the bruising and blood, and it ain't been that long since I worked with 'em. Not too sure I want 'em recognizing me, either, after this."

"Don't blame you one bit," Bobby sighed. "Not sure yet what all I'm gonna say to 'em when I see 'em 'sides calling them sixty different kinds of moron for this whole damn mess, starting with them going off half-cocked after a natural witch without a proper investigation!"

"That where I'm taking you first?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow when Bobby shot him an incredulous look. "Hugs aside, I haven't actually seen or heard from you since I was a kid and you ran us off shooting rock salt at our tail lights. I'm taking a lot on faith because Jimmy and Cas say you raised 'em, but I don't know what your priorities here are."

"Hospital first," Bobby said. "Wanna lay eyes on my boys and make sure they're really alive. And for the record, I was only ever running that stubborn ass John off my property before he could get some innocent kid with natural powers killed thinking everything with powers was infected by a demon. It wasn't ever meant to extend to you and Sam."

"Good to know," Dean murmured. He was silent for a moment, then snorted. "Probably just as well we weren't around when you took in Cas and Jimmy, though. Your house isn't that big!"

"Place I'm in now is big enough," Bobby shrugged. "Not much better for raising kids in, I'll grant ya, but a decent place to train hunters, once they get the word. It's actually thanks to Jimmy and Cas I live there now instead'a Sioux Falls."

"Oh yeah?" Dean glanced at him, taking the subject change like a champ. "How'd that happen?"

"Turns out," Bobby said with a grim little smile, "there's a lot more to the world of hunting and the supernatural than we could'a suspected, and part of that is this organization called the Men of Letters...."

[hogwartsalumni08-slytherin]

Innocent And Sweet

My name is Holly Plake; and I am thirty-three years old. I am currently dating the younger Winchester brother, Sam, whom is seven years older than me. He is forty. His big brother, Dean, is eleven years older than him, which, means he is forty-four.

Yeah, sure I've kissed and made-out with multiple guys. Even gave a few guys oral; and, let those few finger me. However, I have never had sexual intercourse and anal sex. I always thought I was going to save sex for marriage; but once my family died because of a group of demons my idea of the world drastically changed. Dean and Sam saved me from this group of demons. Soon after that, I started dating Sam regardless of the age difference between the two of us. You see I usually dated guys my age or a couple of years younger. I always thought that I would only date guys three years younger to three years older that seemed like a good age bracket at the time.

Sam Winchester changed my entire perspective of the world. His 6'4" compared to my 5'6". His hazel blue eyes compared to my dark brown eyes. His light brown hair to my dark brown hair. When I told him that I was a virgin, he respected me and said, "I will wait until you are ready." 

One night after we fought off this nest of vampires, Dean starts driving us back to the Men of Letters bunker in his 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He cranks up Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In (The Flesh Failures) by the 5th Dimension. I laugh and Sam asks, "What is it?" I say, "I remember my dad playing this song in the car. I always thought the song was a little bit weird but it reminds me of jamming out to songs in his car." As Dean continues singing off-key, I whisper into Sam's ear, "I am ready." Sam mouths, "Are you sure?" I nod and Sam gives me the biggest grin. Dean asks, "Everything alright, Sammy?" Sam rolls his eyes, "Yes, Jerk." Dean says, "Bitch." I laugh and say, "You two should have your own comedy show it can be called Loser Squared." Dean smirks and says, "Love ya too." Sam says, "My girl, Dean." Dean laughs.

We finally make it back to the bunker. I think to myself, "I am so nervous. Sam has had sex before with multiple women. I am so inexperienced. What if he doesn't love me anymore after we hookup?" Dean asks, "Anything on your mind, Hol?" I say, "Oh just thinking about how I am going to shower up after this hunt. I feel gross. Sam, wanna join me?" Sam smirks and says, "Sure thing, baby." I walk away toward my bathroom swaying my hips side to side. I overhear Dean say to Sam, "Damn. Holly has got all the curves in all the right places. She must be like a D-cup and she has a butt that matches it." Sam says, "Shut up, Dean. Go to the bar and get a beer." Dean snorts and says, "I am leaving now."

Sam meets me back in my bedroom and bathroom in the bunker. He whispers in my ear, "I love how innocent and sweet you are, baby girl. It means that I get to teach you everything about sex." I blush and ask, "Is it normal to be this nervous?" Sam chuckles softly and says, "Yes it is, Holly." I smile. 

We slowly start kissing and making out on the bed. Then we both start taking off the clothes off the other person. I rub my right hand across his anti-possession tattoo; and, Sam looks down to wear I got mine which is on my pelvic bone. I smile at him and say, "I am ready, handsome." Sam smiles and starts leaving a trail of kiss down my neck; and, then he starts sucking my boobs. I let out small moans. Sam asks, "Do you like that?" I nod. He continues moving down my body with kisses. Then, he starts eating me out. Vaginal fluid starts oozing out of me. Sam says, "So, wet. For me?" I whisper, "Only for you." Sam whispers, "I am going to ease my cock up your cat." I look down and I'm in shock. Sam's cock must be eight inches long. I ask, "How is that all going to fit?" Sam laughs and says, "Don't worry, baby girl. It will fit." He slowly eases his cock up my vagina. I tense up some. Sam asks, "Are you okay?" I say, "I am. Keep going. Thrust me and fill me up." Sam smirks and starts thrusting back and forth. My moans keep getting louder and louder. There was a little bit of blood that starts coating Sam's cock. I say, "Sorry." Sam says, "Don't apologize. I am glad that I am your first." I smile. Around fifteen minutes later, we both reach our climaxes at the exact same time. Sam rolls off of me and says, "Wow." I ask, "What is it?" Sam says, "That was the first time ever that my climax has been in unison with the girl's climax." I say, "I've waited so long for sex. I wondered if it was going to be worth it." Sam asks, "Was it worth it?" I say, "Yes it was. It was worth all the waiting because my first time was with you, Sam. The guy that I want to spend the rest of my life with." Sam kisses my forehead and says, "I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. I know that I don't have a ring. But, do you want to commit to be together and never breakup?" I say in my southern accent, "Hell yes." Sam laughs and says, "That Texas-Alabama accent combination is so sexy to me." I blush and say, "Well good because you are stuck with it." We both fall asleep. Sam wraps his arm around me and I cuddle up next to him.

The next morning, I hear Dean come into my room and ask, "Where's Sammy, Holly?" I cover up my body; and, Sam says, "I am right here, Dean." Dean says, "Oh wow. Sorry you two. So, you two finally had sex." Sam looks to me; and, I say, "Dean, Sam was nice enough to wait until I was ready to have sex. I was saving myself before marriage before the demons killed my family. Since I began hunting with y'all and dating Sam, I realized that marriage is just on a piece of paper. Sam is the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don't know I could get killed today or next week or two years or fifty years from now in a hunt. All I know is is that I hope that I will be with Sam for the rest of my life." Dean looks shocked. Sam says, "Dean, I feel the same way. I feel the strongest connection with Holly than I did with anyone else including Jess." 

Dean says, "Well I guess that means welcome to the family, Holly." I say, "Thank you, Dean. So what about you and Castiel?" Sam smirks as Dean blushes. Dean says, "Oh, I don't know, Holly. I have had more one night stands with women and some with men. I don't think I could ever be enough for him. Cas deserves so much better than me." I say, "Dean, any woman or man would be lucky to have you. You raised Sam into the wonderful man that he is today. You protect us and save more lives than I could ever dream to. Definite plus is that you can cook." Sam laughs. I roll my eyes and say, "Don't sell yourself short, Dean." Dean nods. Castiel pops up behind Dean. Dean says, "Cas, get out of my ass." Castiel blushes. Dean says, "Cas, we have known each other for a long time. I am just getting the courage to say that I love you. I understand if you don't feel the same way but..." Castiel interrupts him and says, "About damn time, ass-butt." Dean looks surprised. 

I slip on Sam's plaid shirt. I roll out of bed and start walking but it looks like I am hobbling. Sam asks, "What are you doing?" I say, "I am going to start the coffee pot." Castiel asks, "Why is Holly hobbling?" Dean and Sam both turn bright red. I say, "Cas, I lost my virginity last night." Cas asks, "To Sam?" I say, "No to Dean." Dean and Sam both start snort laughing. Cas asks, "What?" I say, "I was being sarcastic, Cas. Of course I lost my virginity to Sam. Dean is all yours." Cas nods. 

I walk into the kitchen and I see Jack looking at me. I say, "Before you say anything, Jack. I lost my virginity." Jack nods and asks, "Does it really hurt the first time?" I say, "Well for me at first it just felt a little bit awkward. I guess it depends on whom you lose your virginity to. Sam was very easy and soft with me while I adjusted to his size. So, no it didn't hurt for me." I feel someone hugging me from behind. I turn around and see Sam. I smile and he kisses my forehead. Dean and Cas walk in holding hands. Jack says, "About time my two dads are together." Dean and Cas laugh. Dean says, "Oh your Uncle Sammy finally got together with Aunt Holly last night. Looks like you owe me five bucks, kid." Jack reluctantly handed Dean five dollars. Sam says, "Seriously? You bet on us, Dean?" Dean laughs and says, "Of course." I roll my eyes and I say, "Coffee is ready. Dean, can you scramble the eggs and cook the bacon? I am making Sam and I our Southwest Vegan Breakfast Skillet." Dean nods and says, "You two are perfect together." Sam and I say in unison, "Thank you." 

[spnexploration]

Collared part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Sam and Dean find you, chained to the wall, but their rescue mission doesn't go quite to plan.

Episode warnings: slavery, hints of past mistreatment, injury to reader

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: This is a fair bit darker than my previous fics! Please let me know what you think. I've already written the first 4 parts in 2 days, so I hope you like it!

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

-> Part 2

A pair of men’s shoes entered the room. You couldn’t see more than his - presumably it was a ‘he’, but just a pair of men’s shoes didn’t automatically mean that - lower legs, as you kept your head appropriately bent to the floor. You were kneeling on the hard floor, hands carefully placed in your lap.

The thick chain connecting your collar to the wall was slack, you’d positioned yourself to have a little space to be able to move. Unfortunately, it was likely the man would pull it or move you until it bit into the skin of your neck, but you could always hope.

“Shit,” the man swore quietly. “Are you Y/N?”

The name stirred something deep inside you, but no one called you that here. You didn’t answer.

“DEAN!” The man yelled. You flinched at the sound. Dean wasn’t your name either, but if he wanted to call you that then he could, it’s not like you’d ever tell him not to.

“Sir?” you asked quietly. Normally the client would’ve told you to do something by now, or have started doing it to you.

The man came and crouched in front of you. He reached out and gently touched your shoulder. You held in the flinch, knowing that clients disliked your fear reaction until they’d given you something to fear themselves. They didn’t like to be reminded that they weren’t the only person visiting you.

“Y/N?” he asked again. You didn’t react to the name, you knew from experience that your Mistress did not approve of that name.

“Can you look at me?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you said, looking up at his face. He had brown hair falling around his face and a concerned expression. You weren’t sure what he wanted you to do differently, so you just stayed silent until he told you.

“Do you know how to get the chain off?” he asked. Ah, you thought, he’s concerned because his fantasy doesn’t involve you staying in the one spot.

“There is an additional fee to my Mistress, sir,” you said. His face darkened, angry. You were used to that expression around you, most people who paid to use you wanted to express their anger in some way or another.

Suddenly, someone banged on the door.

The man went to open it. You returned your gaze to the floor. A second set of men’s shoes entered, perhaps this was Dean. Two clients at once was not unheard of.

“Fuck,” maybe-Dean said. It was uncharacteristic for clients to enter and swear in such a manner, it was as if they were surprised by what they saw. Perhaps someone else had paid for the men, so they had not interacted with your Mistress themselves.

“Did you see a key anywhere?” the first man asked the second.

“Yeah, hang on,” maybe-Dean said, leaving the room. He returned a minute later with the jingling key chain. This was strange, the keys were never given to the clients. One of the handlers would always come in and use them.

He came over to your chain and started trying keys. You remained still and quiet, kneeling on the cold floor. You knew you could get in trouble for this, but you would also get in trouble for protesting the actions of clients. You resigned to your fate.

The chain released and maybe-Dean held out his hand to you. You waited for an instruction.

“Here, kid,” he said. “I’ll help you up.”

It wasn’t a proper order, but he seemed inexperienced so perhaps he thought it was. After a moment’s hesitation you put your hand in his and he pulled you to stand. You kept your eyes on the floor, but from this vantage you could tell that both men were significantly taller than you.

Thinking that things would go better if you showed the men that they had to be more explicit about what they wanted, you hesitantly asked, “How would you like me?” You were much more used to dealing with return clients than rookies.

“Oh, uh, we’re not- we’re not here for, umm, that,” the first, and taller, man stuttered. Why else would they be here, you wondered, quite unable to think of anything else that could happen in this room.

“We’re here to rescue you, sweetheart,” the second man, maybe-Dean, said without a hint of irony in his use of the pet name. You didn’t understand what that meant, your brain stuck behind a fog.

You stayed where you were, waiting for an order.

“Ok, we can deal with this later when we’re not trying to outrun a witch’s potential friends. Come on,” maybe-Dean said, taking your hand and pulling you towards the door.

“Please sir, I cannot leave the room,” you pleaded, dreading the outcome. He continued to pull you towards the door. “Please, sir, please!” He looked at you confusedly but continued to tug you along.

He pulled your arm through the door. And then it happened. The white hot pain emanating from your collar, the blinding light, the screams that you heard and then realised were your own.

Maybe-Dean had shoved you back in the room when he saw it happening, his hands on your waist holding you up before he clutched you to his chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. You were surprised he would apologise to you.

You started to get your breath back. “I’m sorry, sir. I cannot leave the room unless my Mistress orders it,” you said with a trembling voice, afraid of what he would do that you weren’t obeying his commands. But the command from your Mistress overruled anything else.  “I’m sorry, sir,” you pleaded.

“Hey, hey,” he said soothingly, “It’s not your fault.” He continued to hold you against his chest, rubbing his hand on your back. It was very strange and somehow… pleasant.

 “We have to find a way to get this collar off, I think,” said the first man. You had almost forgotten he was here. He bent down to look at your neck. His scrutiny was unnerving but you avoided flinching.

“Looks like it’s spelled,” he said. You remembered your Mistress saying strange words when she put it on.

Maybe-Dean swore again. “I fucking hate witches,” he muttered. Then, he had an idea. “Hey, sweetheart, has your Mistress ever taken the collar off?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you said haltingly. You didn’t like to be reminded.

“Do you know what she said to take it off? Did she need any special ingredients or anything with her to do it?”

You nodded slightly to the first question.

“Can you tell us?” he said gently. You weren’t sure, you’d never tried to say the words out loud so you didn’t know if there would be a reaction. No one had ever asked you before. Besides, it wasn’t an order, you didn’t have to obey him until he said it properly.

You remained silent.

He looked at your face and seemed to try a different tact. “My name’s Dean, and this is my little brother Sam. What’s your name?”

“Room 14,” you responded automatically. Dean’s eyes widened.

“I want to get you out of this room, but I need you to tell me how to get this collar off so that I can do that,” he said.

You felt your need to obey overriding your fear. “Resero opens it, praecludo closes it.”

“Does that seem a bit simple to you?” Sam muttered to Dean. “That’s just plain Latin for open and close.”

Dean shrugged, “Witches, man.” Sam nodded.

“Ok,” Dean said, turning back to you. “I’m going to take the collar off now, and then we’re going to get you out of here.” You didn’t respond, it wasn’t an order or even a question.

You just dreaded what would happen next.

[bi-bard]

Dean Winchester: The Ultimate Killer - Dean Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Dean Winchester: The Ultimate Killer

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Requested: nope

Warning(s): self-doubt

Summary: (Season 2-ish) Dean never realized that he was so inexperienced with basic affection.

Author's Note: Based on a discussion I had with a good friend of mine.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Dating Dean Winchester was different.

Hunting monsters made it hard to fit in time for normal dates.

I didn't care about that though. I had him and that was enough. He could save my life and make me laugh. There was no time where I was happier than when I was with Dean.

However, Dean was hesitant to date. He assumed anyone he loved had a target on their back. When he finally accepted that he didn't get to decide how I felt for him, we got our chance to be together.

His hesitancy to dating led to some interesting results; one being that he was probably touch-starved and the other being that he was completely inexperienced in parts of a romantic relationship.

I noticed that during a hunt.

I slowly slid into physical affection. I didn't know where the line was because it was a new situation.

We were walking down the street from a diner to Baby and I decided to grab Dean's hand. It was soft, just intertwining our fingers. He tensed and looked down at our hands for a moment. I thought I made him uncomfortable, so I let go of his hand.

After that same hunt, Dean was leaning against Baby when I walked over. I leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly because I noticed he was upset. He furrowed his eyebrows at me, clearly shocked.

"What," I asked with a chuckle. When his face didn't change, my smile dropped a little. "Dean."

"Ready to go," Sam asked, walking out of the motel room.

Dean and I both nodded, not pushing the conversation further.

I jumped into the passenger seat, receiving a bitch face from Sam. I just stuck my tongue out at him. He mimicked me before getting in the backseat.

We made it to another motel the next night.

"You guys wanna go on a food run," Sam asked.

"Can you handle it," I asked back, glancing at Dean, who was looking through his duffel bag. Sam saw me look at his brother.

"Sure," he nodded.

I tossed him the keys and mouthed "thank you" at him. He nodded again before leaving the room.

"Dean," I said, sitting on the bed next to his duffel bag. He looked at me. "Have I been making you uncomfortable?"

He scrunched up his face, "What?"

"Like with the PDA or something," I explained. His face relaxed and looked away from me. "It's just... you got really tense when I grabbed your hand and then you seemed just plain confused when I kissed your cheek earlier. I... If you're not comfortable with that, then I just need to know."

"It's not...," Dean trailed off. "It's not that I'm uncomfortable. I'm just... I'm used to the one-night-stand kind of thing. I'm not used to dating. The soft stuff. I'm just not used to it."

I nodded.

"But I want to be," Dean said. "I like you holding my hand and stuff. I just... need to adjust."

"Okay," I replied.

I reached over and grabbed his hand. I pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He grinned a little at me. I smiled back. He pulled his hand away so he could move his duffel bag.

"Scooch," he said, pointing to the other side of the motel bed.

I moved over and laid down. He laid next to me with a soft smile.

I reached over and touched his face lightly. I tried to hide my smile when I saw his eyes shut. He pressed his cheek closer to my hand. My other hand reached to run through his hair lightly.

“This is nice,” Dean mumbled.

I chuckled, “Yeah.”

He reached over and wrapped his arms around my torso. His eyes opened slowly. I leaned over, kissing the tip of his nose. I chose not to tease him about how he blushed at the action.

“Moments like these… I could get used to,” he said.

“So could I,” I replied. “You’re comfortable with PDA, though? Truly?”

“I think so,” he nodded. “It may take a while to get used to but it’d be nice.”

“I’ll make sure that you are the most loved man in the world,” I promised, kissing his cheek. “Even if it’s just for a minute.”

“You already do,” Dean muttered. “Thank you.”

“Affection doesn’t require a ‘thank you’, Dean.”

He just blinked at me a few times. He cleared his throat. I leaned over and kissed him gently.

“You deserve to be loved, Dean,” I explained. “You don’t have to be ‘useful’ or some crap like that. You deserve love and affection and care.”

He tried to hide the tears in his eyes. I wrapped my arms around his neck, scooting close enough so he could hide his face in my neck.

I held onto him tightly, kissing his cheek, whispering sweet compliments, running a hand through his hair… anything to make him happy and feel loved.

I just wanted him to know that love didn’t require perfection; just acceptance. I would accept every scar and flaw because I loved him. He would do the same for me.

We had each other and that’s what mattered.

[pvre-angel]

letting go. | the winchesters

sam & dean winchester x reader: both are in love with you. and to save their relationship you decide to take a step back.

you slammed the door to the impala and rushed a few steps ahead of them. the arguing continued the whole drive back to the bunker and you were just about fed up. you had joined sam and dean a bit over a year ago once you crossed paths and helped each other during a hunt. 

being alone for years, the company was a nice change. so when they welcomed you to stay with them for a while, you agreed. you didn’t expect, however, for it to become a permanent thing or to find out that they both fell in love with you somewhere along the way. 

it was only recently that they both admitted to each other that they fell for the same girl. they picked up on each others mannerisms towards you but never said anything at first, just started a silent brotherly war on who could make you the happiest in the run of a day until it made someone confess. 

at some point, you had fallen for them too. you could never tell them that though. it was unfair and the thought that somehow something could work out was unrealistic. they both loved you more than anything in the world, and you them. choosing wasn’t an option, losing one of them wasn’t an option. so you stayed quiet on your feelings. 

“she almost died, damn it!” you heard dean yell behind you. sam scoffed. “enough dean, alright?” you hoped they’d finally stop fighting but dean couldn’t help himself, not when it came to your safety. “no, sam. it isn’t enough. not when it comes to her.” sam valued your safety too, of course but he also valued your choices and ideas, unlike dean. if it was the slightest bit risky, he wouldn’t allow it. 

it was your idea, your choice. you were sick of being treated like a newbie when you had been doing this alone for years. they never acted this way toward you until the feelings disrupted everything. before, they treated you like a hunter. not like some girl who couldn’t take care of herself and needed protection.

sam protested at first, but you knew he’d be easier to convince than dean. you wouldn’t have brought it up at all if you knew you’d be in the middle of a fight because of it. the vampire nest was probably the biggest any of you had seen. while dean was sneaking around the nest to try and find a way in that wasn’t the main doors, you told sam that you were just going straight in the front. “you’re kidding me right?” he laughed, but once he saw your very serious face the protesting began. “no. no way! (y/n). it’s too dangerous.” you opened the car door and got out, sam following as he tried to get you to stop. 

“every hunt is dangerous, sam. you’re forgetting i’ve done this a hundred times before- alone, might i add. i’m not some inexperienced little girl. and i’d appreciate it if you and dean stopped treating me like one.” sam was silent for a moment. “we just don’t want to see you hurt.”

you grabbed a weapon from the trunk, and passed another one to sam. “i know, i don’t want you to get hurt either. it could happen to any of us. now let me do my damn job. i’m always following the lead, just trust me this once. please.” his eyes showed worry still but he sighed, “alright.” he understood your frustration, and he wanted to make you happy so he gave in. 

“thank you. go find dean, go in through the back when i go in through the front. they’ll be distracted, you can fight more of them that way.” 

that was it. that was the reason for today’s argument. yesterdays and the day before and every other day before that were different reasons and it was getting all too much.

“i was just doing what she asked of me, dean.” sam’s voice echoed through the bunker as you all stepped into the main room. “see that’s the difference between me and you, sam. you do what she wants, i do what keeps her alive.” dean stated with harsh intent. 

you walked out of their sight and started packing your few belongings quickly and quietly. you didn’t want to leave, but you started to think it was your only option. or it was just your cowardly way of trying to avoid the problem instead. you were heart broken, always thinking about how their love for you has done nothing except make them fight and ruin their relationship. it’s been months and it was enough. 

“i’m leaving.” you stated flatly, as you threw your bag onto the table in front of you. your words made them shut up quickly. their expressions changed from anger to confusion and worry. 

“what are you talking about?” dean asked, inching closer to you. “where is this coming from, (y/n)?” sam joined in on questioning you, tucking his long hair behind his ears before crossing his arms. 

“i can’t keep doing this. you guys are tearing each other to shreds over anything to do with me. i refuse to stay and keep being the reason you hate each other when i can just leave.” 

sam and dean shared a troubled look. dean opened his mouth, ready to fight you on your decision, as usual. but he couldn’t find anything to say.

“you two should be the most important people to each other, not me. and i know you can’t help your feelings, neither can i. but this is just for the best right now. i can’t stay here, not like this.” you paused, trying to see any sign of understanding from them but all you could see was disappointment.

“i’m sorry. this is probably the hardest thing i’ve had to do, and trust me i’ve been through hell and back doing this stuff on my own. i wish it didn’t have to be like this- but you two are so important to me and i won’t forgive myself if you keep fighting this way.” 

they knew you were right to some extent. they fought a lot over you and things to do with you. but they couldn’t understand how leaving would fix anything either.

“no. all feelings aside, we’re family. you can’t just leave, it won’t fix anything.” sam protested, “you’re not leaving. no chance in hell.” dean shook his head, reaching for your bag but was too late as you had grabbed it first,

“yes i am. i need to. you need to reconcile and the longer i’m here testing your very different opinions you’ll never stop fighting. this isn’t forever, alright? but it’s something i need to do. i have to let you go so you realize what’s truly important.”

you refused to listen to their objections. you were doing this for them, but also yourself. it was unfair to everyone to stick around when you loved them both and they both loved you. some time apart might put things into perspective for everyone.

you couldn’t look them in the eyes any longer as tears fell from yours. they stood there as you kissed their cheeks and whispered your goodbyes to them. they fought back the urge to blame each other and for once accepted this as your decision. but they hated it nonetheless. 

they watched you leave without saying a word, not even able to return the farewell. they just stood there, silently comforting each other without realizing. 

you had just left and they were already one step closer to acting like brothers.

that’s all you ever wanted.

[kagesdumpsterfire]

The Winchesters: Season 1 Episode 1

I don't know if any one else prepared themselves for the pilot like I did (probably so) by watching all the important John and Mary lore centric episodes. I'm glad I did though, because it gave me a nice refresher on important elements of each of their pasts. Not to say I didn't already know their story (I've watched every episode, minus 15×20, at least 4 times so...) but it was like having a good cram session before a test. That being said I have a few thoughts on the pilot that I wanted to write down. Mostly for me to go back on in the future to see how my opinions may have changed. Anyway, SPOILERS AHEAD

CHARACTERS

ADA

Starting off with Ada because the least is known about her, but I like her so far. Strong, mysterious, smart, has worked with MOL before, owns a rare bookshop (which, let's be real here, for a black woman in the early 70s is impressive as hell). Vey much looking forward to seeing more of her.

MILLIE ( Momma Winchester)

Definitely giving Ellen Harvelle vibes. Strong, Independent but bitter. I sympathize with her, of course. She thought her husband ran off on her then her son goes off and lies about his age to join the military, not knowing for 2 years if he would come back alive. I'd be bitter too. But between her and Henry, it's easy to see secret keeping and lying to "protect loved ones" is definitely a Winchester genetic curse. Honestly I'm nervous to see what is going to happen to her, considering she's almmost never (if ever) mentioned in SPN.

LATIKA

I like her. She's vey sweet, if not a bit naive. We know that Samuel saved her life somehow which is how she got involved in everything and that she's known Mary for over a year but inexperienced in actual hunting. She's a pacifist and easily frightened, which doesn't bode well for her hunting career, but very eager to get out onto the field. Of all the characters so far though, she's to one I'm most concerned about. Her devotion to Samuel, coupled with her naivety and pacifism is a combo that could easily get her killed. I hope I'm wrong, but this is the SPNverse so...

CARLOS

Love him. He definitely felt like the most in-place character for the time setting. And being openly bisexual in the 1970s? Legendary. He's very aloof, obviously a player, hippie "free love" vibes. He got into hunting after his family was slaughtered by a gouhl. Something happened between him and Mary ( macking on her ex and bailing on a hunt of some kind) but he apparently carries a torch for her. I like that he has a takes charge vibe and obviously believes in a "hands-on learning" approach when it comes to hunting. He seems to have a lot of faith in people's abilities to suprise themselves. My only concern is that his additude is going to get someone killed. I also feel like there is going to be some tension bettween him and John regarding Mary in the future.

* note: This is about the character. When regarding Carlo's actor, they are nonbinary and use They/Them pronouns*

MARY

She's vey much Mary Winchester. Some people might not agree, but I think most people are looking at Mary the mother, Mary the wife, not Mary the young daughter of a hunter. Mary the young girl who wanted nothing to do with hunting but had no choice. Mary the young girl who is still in mourning over the death of her cousin, a death she blames heself for. Pre John, Pre Sam and Dean, Pre Azazel Mary. We're seeing a Mary who isn't responsible for anybody but the people she saves. A Free Mary if you will. But still her. She's a badass fighter, which she always has been. She has a caring quality to her but is still standoffish in a way. She would rather walk away from human confrontation than talk it out (Same ole Mary) and she definitely acts before she thinks. Now, I've had a multitude of mixed feelings on Mary ever since season 12 of SPN, mostly veering towards frustration. She's not a simple character, she never has been. She has layers and not every layer is all that likeable. But one thing about Mary that I do respect is consistency. Did she try to be a good mom, a good wife? Yes. Did she always succeed? Hell no. She has always had a layer of defiance and selfishness hidden under whatever mask she was wearing at the time, even when it came at the expense of others. But she also has always had a need to protect. I'm not going into how I felt about her abandoning S&D in SPN because that's an essay in and of itself, but overall I can say I definitely feel like they got Mary's characterization right in TW. Hopefully they'll grow with that.

John Winchester

*deep aggravated sigh* John motherf*king Winchester. The hardest thing we are all going to have to accept about this series is that this is pre Azazel John and therefore, not the ruthless SOB that we love to hate. Truth is, when we first met the Wichester parents in season 4 of SPN Mary described John as sweet, kind, and someone, who despite everything, still believed in a happily everafter, everything a hunter isn't. That is the John we are going to be seeing. Now, I am , in no way, trying to be a John apologist. I personally think he should have stayed in hell after what he did to his children. I will make no excuses for the man he became. However, this is him before he became that man. That being said, I'm still not sure I like him. He's obviously suffering from severe PTSD after watching his friend get blown up and needs to talk about it. Not just say this is what happened, but actually sit down with someone and talk about it. I realize it's the 70s and therapy wasn't as readily available as it is today (which casued a multitude of problems irl after 'nam with messed up soldiers but I digress) but jesus christ Winchester, get some therapy. Because of this he has an obvious death wish. Right off the bat he puts himself in danger without any knowledge of how to handle what he is facing. He also has a "White Knight" complex that I cannot stand (and again have seen in real life soldiers fresh out of combat so bravo for accuracy there). He is very cocky, and sure of himself, which is going to put someone in danger. He's flirtatious (we all saw the Latika scene) and while not neccesarily a bad trait, it will most likely cause a distraction that isn't needed in a time where focus is necessary. I definitely see traces of the John we know. Looks like he always had trouble of letting go of the past at the expense of others, very on brand. I can definitely see where Dean was coming from when he said Sam was just like their father. It's interesting for sure and I'm reluctant to say this but, I'm ready to learn more about him.

STORY

It's alot. Like a lot. It feels like they did their damndest to pack as much exposition in as possible which made for and extremely fast pace3 pilot. There wasn't a whole bunch of down time in the episode to reflect on things which can be a good thing, midseason, but was a little wonky for the pilot. We got introduced to a few new characters as well as reintroduced to some old ones with some glimpses of backstory and it honestly could have been split into two parts to ease the pacing but overall I'm intrigued.

Some key points:

John's PTSD is definitely going to bite them in the ass, though it was interesting to see he always had a willingness to bleed for mary when he cut his friend's cross out of his arm.

Samuel leaving Mary and Deanna alone to go off on a hunt seemed off. I realize it was used as a plot device to tie in with SPN but it felt...hmmm....I'm just not sure I like what certain fans will do with the " finding Mary's dad narrative. Iykyk.

The man who handed John his dad's letter and dissapeared was 100% an Angel. You can't change my mind

Driving to 3 different states in the first episode was a lot but apparently this group is used to it, John however seemed so willing to leave home and travel with them, which made me feel sorry for Millie.

They have a monster box and a lot of info on how to use it due to the library and the MOL club house, which was cool and I want to know more about this stuff but everything was so sped up I couldn't get a grasp on everything they were doing and saying. I'm sure it will be explored more.

While it isn't the first time we've seen that the MOL have used monsters/creatures as guard dogs for their things, I almost wish it would have been a previously known monster. I actually have a lot of complaints about the loup-garou but that's neither here nor there.

I hope to see more of Carlos and Mary's beef regarding that hunt and they don't leave it slightly vague like they did with Bobby and Rufus. I also want to know more about how Samuel saved Latika.

The Akrida. Are we talking Aliens, dimentional creatures, or underworld here? I have a feeling they are going to be a key plot point in why John seems oblivous to everything once we meet him. I'm definitely intrigued, if not a bit apprehensive, but we'll see.

I, personally, enjoyed the little details about John and Mary's first meeting they put in there. Slaugher house 5. Cup of coffe. All that good Jazz, it was nice. I'm still bothered by Zachariah saying they hated each other at first and forever bothered by the random patron of the diner from In The Beginning telling John to say hi to his old man for him, when Henry dissapeared when John was a child, but it's still the pilot so, there's time.

DEAN😭😭😭😭😭

I'm not going to sit here and predt3end I didn't tear up hearing his voice. I'm sure as hell not gonna pretend I didn't cry actually seeing him on my screen again. I was born into this fandom a Dean girl and since nothing in the SPNverse never truly dies, it looks like a Dean girl I shall remain (with occasional Castrash moments obviously).

PRODUCTION

Glorious. The shots in Louisiana were beautiful, I enjoy the music accompaniment and that it isn't so loud that it overtakes the dialogue *coughcough* but gives the scenes a nice ambiance. Hearing Dean's song over John's dialogue made me feel a type of way but I'll let it slide. The lightning is very bright and Campy but that's just how most everything is shot now. And it wasn't terrible. Literally my only complaint from a production stand point is some things about Mary's costume (she looked more like Claire Novak's twin sister that Mary Winchester. We need the Farrah Faucet hair) and the damn loup-garou. It looked like and ROUS from the Princess Bride. There is no known lore on it other than how to kill it. I get that it's a pilot and budget sacrifices have to be made somewhere but it was just...ugh. literally my only real complaint. I could deal with every minor detail that didn't fit my expectations because this is the pilot and really, who am I to be picky, this show wasn't made SPECIFICALLY for me and me alone, but that damn loup-garou was not it. Overall production, not just "for a pilot", but as a whole, was stunning when you consider that Jensen and Danneel have NEVER done this before. Bravo.

ACTING

I've already seen people commenting about the acting in the tags and some of it hasn't been terribly kind. I saw someone liken it to disney acting. Which, IDK couldn't have anything to do with the fact that Meg was a Disney channel actor, could it? Give them a break guys. They did a good job. Acting isn't easy and I, spending the majority of my childhood and teen years being a stage actor, saw no glaring issues. I was very impressed with the acting for a pilot. Let's face facts here guys its not like the SPN actors were ALWAYS on the ball either. Jensen was a soap opera star ffs! This is their first episode together. You gotta give them a chance to get to know each other. Damn, it's not like they stared into the camera or broke character or gave middle school play vibes. I'd be more concerned about their acting skills if they had been doing this for umpteen seasons and were internationally known super stars, but they did better than A LOT of CW actors on tv today. They did good. I'd like to see some of you go out there and do better. It's a pilot not a finale.

Final thoughts

Overall, I really enjoyed it, and not just for it being part of the SPNverse. I honestly think i I would probably watch it as a stand alone for it's subject matter and genre. I think Jensen and Danneel did a wonderful job. I'm looking forward to putting my bias against John aside and actually learning more about the Winchesters' past. Definite 7.8/ 10 for a stand alone pilot (-0.2 for the pacing and - 2 for the damn loup-garou) and a solid 8/10 for something from the SPNverse.

Will we learn more about the The Akrida and their plan to destroy existence as we know it?

Will we get more backstory on our new characters?

Will anyone ever explain why the random patron told John to say hi to his old man for him when Henry had been missing for years?!?!?!?

Tune in next week for: Kage rants about The Winchesters To Almost Nobody But Themselves, to find out.

[hb-writes]

Don’t You Dare Touch Me

Summary: When Sam and Dean let Nora in on a hunt, she gets more of an experience than she bargains for. She deals with it the only way she’s ever seen a hunter deal—by burying it deep down below a level of anger and alcohol.

Characters: Dean Winchester & Nora Winchester

Content Warnings: Angst, typical Winchester family business - murder/ death, emotional pain/ trauma, and alcohol consumption.

--

"I think that's enough."

Nora scoffed, her eye contact with Dean remaining steady as she pitched back the drink, feigning indifference as the whiskey seared her throat, sending a warmth through her chest that barely flickered when compared to the pain surging through her as she searched for some sort of release or whatever it was that her brothers and father and every hunter she had ever known seemed to be chasing down the bottom of a bottle.

Dean rarely had much to say about his sister having a drink these days, hadn't really since she turned eighteen. He didn't have much of a leg to stand on considering he'd started consuming much earlier than she had and it didn’t bother him much anyway. Nora was a good kid. She was usually responsible about it. 

Nora had only gotten drunk once in the time since she’d started indulging without asking permission, and she’d done it in the company of her brothers, the three of them collectively getting a little out of hand in the name of celebration, but this was something different. This wasn’t a finger of whiskey enjoyed with her bare feet up on the coffee table or Nora and Sam sampling a fancy bottle of wine. It wasn’t a beer used to wash down one of Dean’s famous burgers. 

He recognized this as something else entirely, something he’d done more than once, something he’d never wanted for his sister.

Dean wasn't sure how much Nora had had, but his sister had been alone in the library since they arrived back at the bunker, heading straight there without a word to her brothers, the music coming from Sam's laptop growing steadily louder until it finally pulled Dean from his bedroom to check on her while Sam went out to pick up dinner.

The bottle of whiskey sat beside his sister was nearly empty. Dean couldn't remember how much was left before they'd gone out for the latest hunt, but he imagined it had been more than half-way full the last time he’d had it out of the cupboard. How much she’d had didn't matter though. His concerns were more closely tied to the fact that his sister had sought this out on her own, reaching for oblivion as she pored over the book they should've read a bit closer the day before, poring over the passage he shouldn't have rushed her through.

She'd been curled up with the book in the backseat for the entire ride back to the bunker, completely silent with her headphones firmly in place, not a single request to stop for the bathroom or lunch or to stretch her legs made during the seven-hour journey, not a single interruption to Sam and Dean's conversation voiced, no complaints or sounds coming from their sister in the back seat other than the turning back and forth of pages as she memorized the words Dean hadn’t given her a chance to even skim.

She'd gone for a shower back at the motel, been in there for maybe twenty minutes and she’d come out what Dean would have called stoic, strong and stoic and in control of herself. Dean was a little impressed, proud of the way she was handling everything, especially considering what she'd been through, what she'd ended up having to do, but Dean recognized it was his father’s voice in his head. It wasn’t him. 

He and Sam should have known better than to be impressed, should have known better to be proud of Nora for something like that, something their sister wasn’t even capable of, pushing it all aside like that in the name of soldiering on. Sam and Dean knew their sister better than that, knew better than to accept her words at face value when she insisted she was fine after what she’d been through, what she’d done. And even if it hadn’t been their sister, even if it had been some random person, Sam and Dean should've known better to accept that sort of nonchalance because neither of them had been fine the first time someone else’s blood made its way onto the soft pad of their inexperienced hands. It wasn't something you could ever really wash away, not in the span of a shower, not in the span of a lifetime.

That's why Dean had always relegated his sister to the role of researcher. There were no blood splatters where the books were concerned, not direct ones anyway. It was safer, set a physical and emotional distance between Nora and what they really did, spared her aside from the occasional paper cut and whatever ideas the knowledge put into her head. But Dean understood why she was eager to experience the rest of the job. He'd been the same way once, curious and pulled to it with no real clue as to what hunting really meant.

But just like Nora’s consumption of alcohol, Dean and Sam had been able to push her introduction to it much later than their father had done for either of them. Sam and Dean had spent years instilling in her how important the research was, reminding her how necessary that component was to the success of her brothers’ business.

It had all started as a way to keep her out of the actual hunting, to keep her occupied on the long days left alone in hotel rooms or to entice her acceptance of the long stays at Bobby's, emphasizing the opportunity it gave her to learn from a seasoned hunter and his extensive library. It had been designed to keep her happy and safe, but it had become more than that at a certain point, more than a diversion and a convenient excuse because Nora was good at researching, better at it than either of her brothers, something Sam and his big shot college education were loath to admit some days. 

Nora was smart, natural with the academic stuff like Sam had always been and always with a book nearby from the time she could read, but she had a hint of rebellion in her that kept her from loving school in the same way Sam did. And whenever she hadn't done as expected in regards to the school stuff, she was always quick to point out that Dean hadn't done as expected either, something he often had a hard time arguing with.

So her diligence and skill she’d developed with the research had come as a bit of a surprise, something Dean partly attributed to Nora being so eager to prove herself to them, so eager to fit some place in her brothers’ business that her determined eyes saw things Sam and Dean’s eyes more quickly dismissed or passed over. 

Her determined eyes had still been looking, barely glancing up when they'd come back to the motel the day before, more engrossed in the words before her than her brothers’ updates, and Dean should have paid more attention to that, should have given more weight to the slew of old tomes and Sam’s laptop spread out in front of Nora on the motel bed. He should have heeded the fact that she clearly wasn’t finished with her part of the job, not ready to relinquish the work to them, but Dean hadn’t read his sister right. He’d gone ahead and announced their next course of action, decided what the kid was and that they could take care of things easily without his sister finishing her part of the job, a simple extraction and they'd have Jesse Miller back to frat parties and sleeping through the 8 am college classes his parents paid for from their retirement savings. 

Nora had fought him at first, asking after a few more hours with the books just to be sure, but Sam had already agreed and Dean had easily dismissed the need for confirmation, their collective confidence in the plan enough that a bit of doubt about her abilities, doubt about her experience and hunches, crept into Nora’s mind, and her own confidence fell away, allowing her to set her own plans aside as she agreed to the course Dean charted, moved along that road by the fact that Sam and Dean were letting her come along. 

It had been a while since Sam and Dean had let her do anything more than sit in the car, and she’d been eager, but now they all wished they'd left her behind sulking at the motel. Nora hated it and she usually railed against her brothers' protection with varying levels of intensity, but it had protected her, physically and mentally. It had kept her safe and whole and all of the things Sam and Dean hadn't been for a long time.

Nora met Dean's eye before filling the glass again, her hands shaking as the liquid sloshed over the rim.

“To saving people, hunting things, the family fucking business,” she said, lifting the glass in his direction and offering him a smile that made him feel sick in the pit of his stomach.

"Nor—" Dean stopped himself when she tipped the whiskey into her mouth, a soft hiss coming from her lips before she started filling the glass once again. "I said that's enough."

Nora stood and backed away from the table, taking the glass and the bottle with her as she stepped away. Dean took a few steps toward her, hand extended and reaching for the glass though her back was to him as she trailed away.

“Nora, give me the glass.”

Nora tilted her head back a moment before extending an arm out behind her, setting the now empty glass in his outstretched hand while retaining the bottle and the small bit of whiskey left inside. She let out a self-satisfied snort and sent a smirk over her shoulder at him.

Nora was drunk. She wasn't herself, wasn't in control. She wasn’t conscious of exactly what she was doing. Dean knew that and he knew that he had no right in being pissed off for her behaving the way she was. It wasn't on purpose, but it set something ablaze in him anyway, a flash of anger running through him at his sister's smartassed defiance.

Dean set the empty glass aside, letting it clash with too much force as he placed it on the table and he moved with a more deliberate pace to close the distance she'd put between them.

"Nora, give me the goddamn—"

Dean didn't have a word to describe the sound that ripped from his sister's throat as he pulled her back to him, one hand wrapping around her arm as the other closed over her hand in an attempt to release the bottle from her grasp. Dean understood it though and it stirred something old and nearly dead, something interred deep within him, the sound of his sister's pain resonating so strongly with the residual something that still lived within him, a pain applied and buffed into his bones and soul, so well permeated that he'd never wash it away.

"Don't you dare touch me."

Even if Nora hadn’t growled the words, her wants had been made clear enough, discernible in the way she recoiled from Dean’s touch as if his fingers burned the skin through her shirt sleeve, made obvious by the way she tried to rip herself away from him. Dean didn't allow her to break the contact though, not even when she released a scream so high pitched that Dean could still hear a ringing in his ear a few seconds later when she stopped to take a breath.

The bulk of the remaining whiskey had spilled out in the struggle, drops of it covering them both, but Nora still gripped the neck, her effort to keep hold of the empty bottle renewed as Dean attempted to rid her of it, to get it out from the small space that existed between them, to save them from an even bigger mess, a different kind of pain. Dean couldn't imagine having to physically hold her down to bandage the cut that would inevitably come from allowing her to continue having the thing in her grasp.

Dean made a decision then and almost mechanically took hold of the bottle, twisting Nora's wrist as she cried out in pain, her whole body turning as he did it, her fingers involuntarily releasing the bottle which Dean quickly set aside, freeing her wrist, almost certain she'd use the opportunity to put some distance between them, use it as justified ammunition to keep him away. 

Nora put her hands up and shoved at Dean’s chest hard enough that he stumbled back a step, dazed for a second as she rushed forward, whatever energy she’d been using in retaining the bottle, all of the focus and determination she’d held, now directed at her brother instead, and Dean simply took it, took the fists pounding against his chest, standing firm as Nora pushed against him, trying to move him back, trying to push him away as she sought a bit of the satisfaction she’d gained when he’d first stumbled, her words starting to come as the adrenaline subsided, a string of pained demands taking the place of the pounding fists, a continuous stream of cruel words wielding more power than any of her punches could have, most of them heavy enough and true enough that Dean tried to ignore a good bulk of it, tried to remember that Nora was working at creating a distance between them, both physical and emotional.

Her arms grew slack and Dean finally got a grip on her wrists, her fight renewed as he gained control.

"You can't push me away, kid."

She stopped fighting against his hold then and Dean sighed, relief just beginning to flow into him as he shifted his grip, preparing pull Nora against his chest, to work on getting her through the worst of it, to help her to shift from the anger to the tears, hoping he’d get her to sleep after that.

"You're murderers,” she said, her words barely above a whisper though they held a certain conviction. “You and Sam. Killing innocent people. Innocent fucking people. Ruined. Broken."

Dean swallowed as Nora stepped back, using his second of shock to put some distance between them, both of them working through her words and pulling out what they'd really meant, so much more than Nora labelling her brothers as exactly what they were.

Sam and Dean were hunters. And they had killed innocent people, hurt innocent people, ruined innocent people, broken them.

And Nora had now done the same. She'd summed it all up in words that took her only seconds to get out, expressed that she'd been ruined and had done the ruining, some precious part of her, the person she would never be again, killed in the three seconds it took for the knife in her hands to plunge into Jesse Miller's side, that part of her dead before the kid was, taking its last breath before the first bit of Jesse’s blood came to the surface of the wound she'd inflicted in the name of self-defense, the wound she'd inflicted because her brother had been wrong, wrong in not letting her finish the research, wrong in allowing her to come along, wrong in not watching over her more closely once they were in the middle of it, for putting her in that position.

Dean looked away from Nora for just a moment, to gather himself and avoid having to look at her as she came down from the anger, the hurt taking over as the venomous rage subsided, the tears coming from her heavy eyes somehow different than those that had been there just a moment before, the choked sobs somehow screaming at him though no sound came from her mouth.

"I—"

Dean rubbed a hand down his face, pulling his eyes back to Nora as she tried to speak, her feet moving just a step or so forward as she tried to fill the gaps, tried to fill the space between her and Dean and the space between what she'd said and what she'd meant, but Dean didn't need her to say any of it. Although she hadn't been able to get past that first syllable, Dean knew his sister had opened her mouth intent on labelling herself in the same ways she'd labelled her brothers.

Murderer. 

Killer. 

Ruined. 

Broken.

Dean took a single step, the distance between them already small enough that he could easily reach out and pull Nora against his chest. Any composure she’d had left her shattered as he did it, her whole body shaking with the sobs that were no longer silent, her pain no longer buried under a layer of anger and stoicism as she clung to her brother, barely aware of his attempts to soothe them both.

"It's alright, kiddo. I know."

--

Bye, Bye Apple Pie (Supernatural) Masterlist

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - You Chose Sam

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: None really, some mention of Sam questioning his self-worth.

Choice:  [You chose Sam Winchester]

Y/N = Your Name

—

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…” Sam said, ignoring the annoyed glare from his older brother as he turned the music down to run through the plan again. As always, the youngest Winchester wanted to make sure you were all prepared. That the plan was bulletproof, and no one could get hurt. 

When you were dealing with not just one, but two witches, that just became all that much more important. Since one spell or hex bag was all it took, and any one of you could end up hurt. Bullets couldn’t tear through words, only cut them off at the source. Possibly a second too late.

According to the briefing, the two witches had moved into the farmhouse not too long ago. The two victims had been connected to the property, and the unfortunate recipients of hex bags. Though, if you knew witches and their opportunistic little hearts, they weren’t done. Sure, the closest town was just a sleepy little thing. But there were quite a few wealthy families with long histories that they could possibly be aiming for, to increase their own bankroll.

“The two witches work as a pair. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to be right next to each other in the farmhouse,” Sam continued, a hand absentmindedly going up to brush the hair out of hazel eyes as he reread the information sent to you via text. The small innocent movement easily making your breath stick in your throat as you watched him. 

The big hand that brushed soft brown hair out of eyes the colour of sunlight through a glass of whiskey always made your whole world tilt. Your body heating up at the thought of how they would feel on your skin, clasped at the back of your neck as he drew you in for a kiss, running down…. 

Down girl! Focus!

Shaking the thoughts away you put on your most innocent expression as you focused on the younger hunter’s words instead of on his lips, or jaw or… Damn it. You were a lost cause when it came to Sam. Every soft smile and warm worried eyes had your heart performing Olympic level acrobatic routines in your chest. 

“So, our best bet is going to be to split up. Dean one way, me the other, and…” Sam’s words brought you out of your own dirty mind for long enough to catch the hunter’s attempt at benching you from the hunt. His hazel eyes glancing up at you in the rear-view mirror warm and soft with hesitant worry.

“I’m going in too Sam,” You sighed, unwilling to let him finish whatever grunt work he was planning on assigning you to keep you out of harm's way. Though you were in love with the man, you didn’t just want him to be some romance novel knight in flannel that swept in and rescued you from all the drama. You were a hunter, not a damsel in distress.

Sure, you had to admit that you found the Greek god of a man sinfully sexy. And yeah, the thought of having him sweep you up into his strong arms did unspeakably dirty things to your mind... But that wasn’t why you’d fallen in love with him. 

What attracted you to him was his careful strength, the comfort of absolute safety you felt when you were fighting side by side with him, knowing he’d have your back. You’d fallen in love with the intelligent man whose eyes shone with unfettered empathy. The kind man, whose strength was mirrored in his continued compassion, even as the world tried to break him of it. With the fighter who didn’t just give up when faced with the loss he feared more than anything else, he kept fighting, for that small hope he still harboured. 

It was the man, Sam Winchester, you loved. And no, you didn’t just want to be protected. You wanted to be his partner. To have his back and as he had yours. Make the world a better place, together. To help him save lives. So that he could one day look back and see all the people who had his back, who didn’t abandon him, and finally understand that he was worthy of love. 

“Someone should watch…” Sam tried again, sunshine eyes clouded with unspoken twisted futures where you left the Winchesters, through death or curses. The same worry that always stained his eyes whenever you demanded to be included in the plans. When you stood your ground, refusing to tip the hand in the monsters’ favour by sitting it out and possibly causing Sam to end up the one hurt. Making him the one leaving you behind. 

“I’m not sitting this one out Sam. Three against two’s a hell of a lot better than fifty-fifty when we’re fighting witches,” You shot in, interrupting his weak attempt at changing your mind. You were just as unwilling to see him hurt as he was to see you, or anyone, hurt. There was no way in hell you’d sit back and watch him walk towards a door that could possibly be hiding his future tormentors. Be it temporary or final. 

You loved him too much to let him bear all those burdens himself.

“Yeah, ok… But, you’ll be with me then,” Sam hesitated before answering as his eyes went from yours in the rear-view mirror and back to the phone. Clearly trying, and failing, to find some loophole in your reasoning. Even Sam, with his tendency to act like a sacrifice whenever someone tried to hurt those he cared for, couldn’t find a way around the facts. Three against two was safer. 

Especially when dealing with hex bags, spells and the cowardly scheming you’d have to expect from the two witches.

“Ok, so do we know anything else about them? Are they both inexperienced or..?” You asked, happy he’d dropped the multiple attempts to shield you like some damsel in distress.  And doubly happy since you’d be right there by his side. Ready to watch his back and keep both the hunter, and the heart you’d secretly given him, safe. 

“That’s the bad news. They’ve both apparently been in this business for a long, long time,” Sam’s brow furrowed, his head falling forward a little as he read the information on the phone screen again. 

“Well then Sammy. We’ll just have to scope out the place and decide on the best plan of action,” Dean spoke up, sending you a knowing grin through the rear-view mirror. The type only a best friend could have. Before he revved the engine of the Impala and sped down the old country roads. 

Reaching out with a pointed stare at Sam, the older Winchester easily turned up the music again as your eyes met Sam’s in the rear-view mirror. Giving him your most comforting smile, you nodded, determined. You’d kick some witch ass, burn some spell books, and you’d all be on your way back home in no time. 

Together. With no man left behind. No one abandoned.

--- 

“Nice place they’ve got here...” 

The words left you as you eyed the farmhouse with wide eyes. When you heard the boys call it that you’d pictured something out of The Hills Have Eyes. Dilapidated and falling apart, maybe with some rusty trucks littering the lawn to complete the aesthetic. Not a freaking mansion! 

Looking from the house to the two hunters you couldn’t help the little confused stutter that left you. Gesturing towards the house that was only barely visible through the trees where you’d parked the car.

“They have a swimming pool! A fucking pool! We’re the good guys right? Where’s my mansion,” You groaned as you waved at the house again, watching Dean’s shoulders shake in barely contained laughter as you frowned in obvious envy. 

“It’s not theirs (Y/N). Don’t forget, witches don’t exactly do things the right way,” Sam chuckled with a warm soft smile. Your little overreaction smoothing out some of the worry lines on his forehead and soothing the trepidation in his eyes. Being able to make him smile was always been your favourite thing in the whole world. At least it had been for as long as you’d known the youngest Winchester. 

Giving the farmhou… Fucking villa, one last envious look, you followed the boys to the back of the Impala. The earlier laughter completely dying down as soon as Dean popped the boot open and started handing you your weapons. It might only be two witches. But you were sure to make yourself a walking, talking arsenal. Carefully packing extra bullets and blades in every available pocket. As you busied yourself by filling the chamber of your revolver with the witch killing bullets, your eyes strayed back to Sam. 

Instead of focusing on the task at hand, his eyes were on the farmhouse in the distance. A strange mix of longing and worry painting his eyes a darker colour as he saw what a house, a home, should look like. Albeit a bit on the grander scale. 

Your hands trembled as you forced the last bullet into the chamber of the gun. Physically flinching from pain as the recognition hit you. Though it was bigger than normal, that farmhouse was a visual reminder of what Sam Winchester didn’t have. 

Sure, you had the Men of Letters bunker. But it was both a base of operations and sometimes also a prison. The dark rooms were walls closing in on you, shutting out the light and the world that kept hurdling forward without you. It was a necessity, no matter how much you were trying to make it a home. Something open like that mansion… Hell, that was just asking for trouble. 

Yet, to Sam, the perfectly manicured lawns and the beautifully bright house was like something out of a fairy tale. One with only happy endings and no monsters hiding in the shadows. A dream where no one ever left him, no one thought he was useless, no one died. A safe space where he could smile and relax, where he didn’t have to be perfect all the time. 

Watching him stand there, gazing at the house, you could tell he was imagining a different kind of life. A safer life. Though you knew he’d never give up on the hunt. Not if it meant other people would lose their loved ones. Because Sam knew loss. Better than anyone else you’d ever met. 

Sam was moulded by loss, shaped by it. His softness slowly but surely sharpened, as wave after wave of pain, lost friends and turned backs walking away from him, crashed into his life and destroyed the mountain fortress he had tried to build around his heart. Until the walls crumbled, leaving just the man, afraid and alone, clinging onto the last of his humanity to keep from falling into the dark waves below. 

Loss for Sam was more than just heartbreak. He seemed to believe his soul, the thing that made him human, was only surviving due to the humanity of those around him. That, if the last of the people close to him abandoned him, he would somehow fall, and become a monster. Become less than human and once more lose his soul.

But you saw the truth. Sam was human and he was beautiful for it. Yes, the memories of past loss lingered, and they cast shadows across the warm bright light in your life that was Sam Winchester. Still, they also made the good moments shine brighter. A spotlight in the shadows illuminating that there was still good in the world.

Warm smiles and hesitant sunshine eyes. That was the Sam you’d fallen in love with. 

“Hey...” Your voice was soft and low as you slid up silently next to him to look at the house. Yet, he still jumped slightly as he tore his eyes off the mansion that was playing the part of picket fences and pies cooling on windowsills in his mind. 

“(Y/N), I’m…” Sam sounded guilty and worried as he tried to get what you guessed was an apology out. Guilty for his temporary daydream, and worried you’d blame him for it. That more people would abandon him if he was anything less than 100% perfect. 

“You know, I bet cleaning that place is hell. The electricity bill has to be through the roof. And swimming pools are overrated, I prefer lakes any day,” You said, keeping your voice light as you spoke over his attempted, and unnecessary, apology. Allowing yourself a small hidden smile when the man you love rewarded your efforts with a soft laugh. 

“And it probably has a ton of freakish art,” Sam said backing you up, grateful eyes crinkling in a smile as he glanced down at you. 

“Clown art,” You said with a teasing gasp. Suppressing the laughter that threatened to inform the witches of your approach as Sam shuddered. 

“Shut up (Y/L/N),” Sam groaned, a big hand going up to run through his hair, as if he was combing the last of the repulsed shivers out of it. 

“Yeah, yeah Winchester. Go get your weapons, we’ve got some witches to hunt,” You grinned back, bumping your shoulder into the big guy, though you barely even moved him. 

---

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do Sam,” You sighed, unwilling to go through the same song and dance again as you closed in on the house. Your plan had been revised to fit the size of the place. Which meant you’d all have to split up and go your separate ways in an effort to get a jump on them. 

These witches were tricky. They weren’t going to risk a straight up fight with the Winchesters. They’d either run or try to get the jump on you if you gave them any opportunity. So, there was no way you could leave any of the main three entrances untouched. You were only three people however, so the three main doors would have to do. You couldn’t cover everything. 

You weren’t exactly going in blind. But it wasn’t the airtight plan you’d have wanted it to be either. Especially now that you had to split up from Sam and try to find him again inside the damned country singer’s wet dream of a farmhouse/mansion. All while also keeping an eye out for any nouveau witch that would attempt to get the drop on you. 

Fun. 

But you were hunters. You had a plan. Or at least an entry strategy. Plus, you had enough witch killing bullets to take down half the cast of Harry Potter if they tried to magic you away. 

Dean would go through the screen door by the pool. Your best friend, the man who constantly acted like the world’s shield and sword, taking the most likely exit route by the witches. And also, the most likely gathering point; since you’d spied the living room there on your way down from the Impala.  

So now it was up to Sam and you to decide who went in the front versus who would sneak in around the back. Though, as the youngest Winchester seemed too busy trying to talk you out of it. The choice was up to you. 

Weighing your two options you looked up at the man you loved. Worry sinking in now that you knew you wouldn’t be there to watch his back. Not until you met back up with him inside the house. 

Yet, you knew you’d find him. 

The mansion could be a freaking labyrinth, and you’d still find him. You, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would never abandon Sam Winchester. Even if the world turned against the two brothers and you, you were there to stay. 

“Alright, then…” You sighed, steeling yourself as you rechecked the chamber of your revolver and made sure every weapon was tightly packed against your body. It was time to go hunt yourself some witches.

—

Make your choice below to move the story along:

Which way do you go?

[Go through the front door] or [Sneak around back]

—

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

—

[mattzerella-sticks]

Checkmate (Castiel-centric, Chuck & Cas, Castiel/Dean Winchester coda to 15x17 “Unity” and 15x18 “Despair, 1.9k)

ao3 link

Billie saves Jack from suffering a fatal end from her plan, and knowing Jack was safe gave Cas space to focus on his own troubles. Nearly losing his son again... revelations from Chuck... choices Dean made, were set on, until Sam broke through at the last minute - too close - they all were...

It was too much. Cas needed to digest these roiling experiences away from faces it hurt to look at. Except he stumbles exactly where Chuck wants him. After countless times praying for guidance, Chuck finally decides now is perfect for a long-awaited heart-to-heart.

           Cas abandoned the others once Billie disappeared, not even waiting for her form to fade before striding away. Stomps up each step, ignoring Dean’s calls as he races from their home. Into fresher air aboveground. Being an angel, Cas was inexperienced with breathing. Yet, instinctually, Cas gasps for breath once he breaks free.

           Hunched over the outdoor railing, Cas’s vision blurs. Darkness encroaching at a pace that makes him shiver. “That’s not…” he hisses, sinking lower, crouching. “It’s not real. It can’t… there’s a deal. They were very clear –“

           “C’mon Castiel, you should know by now…” A familiar voice breaks through static, Cas’s grip tightening on the rusted rail. “This close to the end, anything goes.”

           Cas turns his head, meeting Chuck’s deriding glare. “You’re still here?”

           “I’m everywhere Castiel,” he mocks, arms spread wide and head tilted backwards. Laughing, “I’m God.”

           Briefly, Cas considers shouting. Alerting the others that Chuck hadn’t gone far, nearer than they figured. Except Chuck’s head lolls around once more, clearly expecting Cas to do exactly that. His jaw tenses, Cas rising on shaky legs. “What do you want?”

           “Loaded question. I want a lot of things… Amara’s power – but I got that.” His eyes flicker, blue and black, before fading into their regular hazel. “This world to end… close. I could wait fifty more years but let’s speed it up, honestly. You and your family to suffer…” He grins, advancing towards him. “How is Jack doing?”

           “He’s fine,” Cas tells Chuck, “but you already know that. Don’t you?”

           “Guilty.”

           “Then why ask?” Cas glares at his creator, mustering enough fury that he trembles from an entirely new reason. “Did you stick around only to gloat? Is that what it takes to get you to show up?”

           “Oh Castiel…” Chuck grabs his chin, pinching it. Sparks jumping off his finger pads and searing his skin, Cas wincing when Chuck doesn’t let go. “You’re not bitter that I never returned your calls, right?”

           Chest aching, Cas tamps down that hurt. Accustomed to doing so. “But you received them?”

           “I hear each and everyone.”

           “And you do nothing.”

           “I only help those that deserve it.” He shoves Cas away, spinning on his heel. Gestures around them, “No one on this Earth – in this universe – deserves it. Ungrateful sacks of filth and – and mud. Imperfect, flawed…”

           “Beautiful.” Cas defends them on instinct, stepping forward. “Humanity might be all of that, but it doesn’t make them any less deserving of life. Of a second chance.”

           “Humanity…” He laughs again, to a joke Cas must have missed. Wiping a false tear, Chuck leers at him, “Really? Does humanity deserve a second chance? Is it even a second chance anymore?” Then, with a disturbing amount of severity laced through his voice. “How many more chances are you going to give Dean?”

           Chuck’s hand rests over his heart, closing the distance between blinks. Claws at Cas’s chest, clutching onto him. Cas stares above his creator’s head, resolutely not giving Chuck what he wants. Hiding sadness and longing they both can feel rippling across their bodies, warmth abnormal given this cooler climate.

           “You’re always giving so much of yourself to him,” Chuck whispers, prodding. Breath felt as he rasped in his ear. “Isn’t it tiring? Disappointing he doesn’t do the same?”

           Cas swallows the immediate thoughts that emerge. Those traitorous voices expressing similar sentiment, nasally and grating like them. His shadowed future. He answers, instead, with, “I will always do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”

           Groaning, Chuck knocks his head against Cas’s shoulder. Repeatedly, harder and harder. Each swing whacking at his cool façade. “Love!” he bemoans, “Your love for humans, your love for him. How I hate – why does it all come down to Dean.” His hand trails upwards, snaking over Cas’s tie. Chuck steps backwards, dragging Cas along. Forcing him onto his knees. “Sam, I get. They’re brothers… sentimentality. They’ve been through the wringer longer than every other Earth, of course it’d be harder breaking that. Too mature, set in their routines… And Amara, she was finding herself. Dean was a passing fancy – entertainment, nothing more. But you…” Bending, Chuck presses his face onto Cas’s. Close enough he sees lightning flashing within his pupils. “Your little defect, your crush… this is all your fault.”

           “I…” Chuck’s eyes glow, his throat seizing as this greater being chokes him. Cas fights past it, coughing. “It’s… yours.”

           “No, it’s not. Really.” He stops, dropping him. Cas scrabbles into a crouch, warily observing Chuck circle. Arm raised defensively; angel blade prepped in case of another attack. Useless, given the comparison of power, but he refuses to sit and accept his death. Not like this. Luckily rather than smite Cas, Chuck wastes time prattling. “I tied everything up in a neat, little bow. Sure… took longer to get there, edits and rewrites of course, but the story was done. Brothers battle, one dies, close the book and move on. Raphael was supposed to raze this stage for the next show… until someone called for an encore.”

           Cas startles, guard slipping momentarily. “Wait… you wanted Raphael to restart the apocalypse?”

           “Yes!” Chuck yells, thunder booming in the distance. “It should have been Michael! But what do I find when I check in? Sam back, Dean hunting again, and you balancing an angelic civil war while pining for a man who was better off without you.”

           Those reminders threaten Cas, like tentacles rising from dark ocean waters ready to drag him under. Deeper into his past mistakes. Cas grounds himself, scraping the dirt. Feels it. “My part was done,” he challenges, “Over. Lucifer blew me into tiny particles. Untraceable. You brought me back.”

           “Because how else would I have gotten Dean out of that damned cemetery!” Chuck kicks a rock. It rockets through the sky. “If I’d left him there alone, he’d be as good as dead. Where’s the satisfaction in that? All you had to do was dust Dean off and send him on his way. Couldn’t even do something simple without screwing it up!”

           Cas glares at his creator, shouldering the burden of his disappointment, straining under its massive weight. He does not fall, however. “And all the other times?” he asks. He’s not sure if he wants to hear his answer. Worse, that indecision is a damned lie.

           Chuck grins. His simple act knocking Cas onto his rear, overwhelmed by its cruelty. “And let you off the hook for beating this dead horse? Not a chance. If the Leviathans blew you up, you’d never suffer through the fallout from betraying Dean – the man you did everything for. A hero’s sacrifice, staying behind in Purgatory? For penance? You don’t decide your fate – I do! And it was perfect. Hope, Castiel. All that hope you had… for Jack, a better world, a chance to raise a kid alongside the others. Experience those wonders, find a new purpose – dashed with a simple knife through your chest. The last thing you saw being Dean as his heart shattered, and he broke. That playing on a loop while you slumber for infinity in the Empty – now that was an ending!”

           As an angel, Cas doesn’t sleep. Can’t dream and cannot have nightmares. In moments of peace, sitting alone in his room at night. Bathed in darkness… that memory strikes. Quick, cutting in its ruthless appearance. Sets him to his feet, light on and blade drawn. Watching shadows shrink in their retreat.

           Chuck continues, angrier by the second. “You would have stayed there too, this time. Dean, Dean prayed. Every night that I would bring you back. Instant voicemail.” Cas frowns, distracted from past trauma by this new information. Dean never sharing this. “Except I was too focused on your demise I wrote myself into another problem – again, because of you!”

           “Jack.”

           “You just… you make me so mad! Castiel, you gotta – you gotta understand, I mean…” Chuck wipes at his cheek, palm lingering there while their gazes meet. “You’re an angel. A – uh… a simple worker bee. A drone. I’m the queen! You shouldn’t be able to do this, it’s – what is it about you? Was it this world – did I… help me make it make sense!”

           Righteous fury seizing, oozing out the cracks of his very being, Cas stands. “You want to know what happened?” he says, seething, “I finally saw what was important. Grand battles, ultimate power… they’re all meaningless if you are alone. Unloved. My time here has taught me…” Those words feel awkward on his tongue, incorrect. He switches, answering honestly. “Dean showed me that.”

           “He sure did show that…” Chuck huffs, rocking on his heels. Smugly enjoying Cas’s defiance. “It sure didn’t include you.”

           Chuck twists his hand in the wound. The very reason Cas fled, Dean’s statement ringing in his head. ‘I’d trade all of them for the chance to kill Chuck.’ Their heated, silent exchange during that brief pause. Communicating as best they could. Still, Dean gave into his fears. Chomped at the bit Chuck dangled. Choosing what Cas prayed he’d never.

           All for nothing.

           “Is that why you’re here?” Cas asks, “kill me one last time? Take me off the board because I’m not important to the story?”

           “How I wish that were true, Castiel. How I wish that were true.” He steeples his fingers, drifting into the surrounding forest. “You’ve got a part to play in this. Something big. A set up for the final battle… that’ll bring all the pieces I need onto the board.”

           “Except for me?”

           “I’ve learned from my first draft,” he says, “not to let surprises derail the story I want to write. You, you… you are nothing but surprising.”

           Cas scowls, fists balled at his sides. “And you being here? Sharing this with me? Is that part of your story?”

           Chuckling, Chuck wags his finger from side to side. “Let’s just say I’m… making things up as I go along.” Cas stiffens, hearing his own words used against him. “Wanted one last chat with you before you drown back in that slimehole.”

           “So it’s soon?” Chuck’s lips thin, stretched closed. Restraint crumbles, Cas leaping forward. “Tell me what you’ve planned -!”

           He’s thrown onto his back, a hand around his neck. Chuck expressionless while he struggles, looking almost bored. “Nothing, Castiel,” he says, “I have nothing planned.”

           “Liar!” he hisses, “You said that I –“

           Chuck talks over him, “It’s the truth! I didn’t plan anything… the only one to blame is you, Castiel. Like always, you are the architect of your own misery.” Cas freezes, body rebelling. Flames of hatred snuffed with a cold breeze. “Not like anything I could’ve written would have sticked anyway, we both know this. But your deal… I didn’t make you do that. You have no one to blame for your doom but yourself.” He releases Cas, wiping his hands on his pants. Sneering at Cas like he was garbage, but smaller. Gum Chuck wiped off his shirt, but worse. A bug under a magnifying glass while the sun shone brightly above, except more pitiful. “It’ll be nice to sit back and enjoy for once… so put on a good show, Cas. Really push Dean into doing something dumb and suicidal when you’re gone. Sell it! Make it count – it’ll be your last.”

           Chuck vanishes, leaving Cas there. On the ground, physically. Mentally, spiritually, he’s adrift in the unknown. Floating towards an ending he always knew waited for him. An ending that he chose.

           Or did he? If every other option was stolen from him, was it truly his choice? Cas certainly wouldn’t pick this. Years from now, after his loved ones have shuffled off, at peace with a life well lived – that’s the ending he would write. Being welcomed into his perfect heaven with gentle green eyes, freckles, and a dimpled smile.

           He stays like that for longer than he realized. Sam finds him, asks if he’s okay.

           Cas lies because, like with the Empty, it’s the only choice he has.

[mila-dans]

Spells Out Trouble: Roll on Down the Highway

This is chapter three of “Spells Out Trouble.” Masterlist Here!

Chapter Two: Take It Easy

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 4530

Summary: You have been with the Winchesters for several years now going through all the literal trials and tribulations with them. What happens when Dean gets hit by a love spell and becomes head-over-heels for you? Will your pushed down emotions finally rise or will you get in over your head? Find out what happens when your best friend’s hard exterior becomes mush whenever you end up in his eyeline.

Just so you know: This is my first Fanfic so sorry if there are aspects missing. “Spells Out Trouble” is a series with about ten chapters. If you have any suggestions or tips, I’d love to hear from you. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it! (Also, not my gif!)

Dean looks at you with a head tilt and a furrowed brow, “Sorry for what?”

Boom

The front car door opens hitting Dean in the chest and below the belt. Sam steps out from the car grabbing Dean by the collar. “Hiya, Dean,” he says, giving him a quick smile then serving a big knuckle sandwich knocking him down for the count.

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

“Waffles… waf… waffles. Waffles. Waffles.” Dean jolts up in the backseat. “Waffles!”

“Great,” you sigh, “He’s up.”

“Y/N,” Sam says as he gives you a look.

“Y/N!” Dean says as his smile returns and tries to get closer towards you.

You turn around in the seat to look at him and point to the handcuffs holding him to the door handle. “Sorry, pal. It’s for your own good. And our good.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a frown after examining his restraints. “That’s okay, my Love. If you feel better about having me restrained then it’s fine,” Dean says, smiling at you, still trying to get as close as he can.

You and Sam had been driving with an unconscious Dean in the backseat for about three hours. You still had nine hours to go till you reached the bunker and Cas. Sam threw a few theories your way on how Dean is still alive with his insides intact and you shared some of your own thoughts. Well, not all of your thoughts. This ride was the first time you have been able to take a breath and calm your pounding headache that has only managed to get worse. Every time there was silence between you and Sam, Dean entered your mind.

You remember the first time you met the brothers, Dean to be exact.

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

Five years ago, back when you were all young and naïve.

Back in your hometown, Harrisburg, South Dakota, you sat at a local bar called “Timmy's.” You were waiting to talk to some hunters that Sheriff Mills had claimed to be ‘damn good at their job.’ You were familiar with hunting and what was used to kill what. Your dad used to be one of the best. It was the family job. Just you, mom, and dad. It was like that for years until it became just you and your dad. Remembering the loss of your mother was a burden that no matter how much you dug, you couldn’t quite bury. Quitting the life and leaving your father was the biggest regret of your life.

In the corner of your eye you saw a young man dressed in a cheap suit walk inside the bar looking around. He was attractive. He didn’t look like the usual old, beer bellied, bush bearded, hunter that you expected. He looked different, acted different. You stood and signaled for him to come over. “You Mr. Winchester?” You asked, reaching out for a handshake.

“Don’t be so formal, call me Dean,” He said with a flirtatious smile as he shook your hand then took a seat.

“With all do respect Mr. Winchester,” you said, giving him a more simple smile and taking your seat, “I’d rather be formal than familiar with you and your life.”

“Understood. So, are you aware of my life and what I do?” He asked, becoming more formal in tone and posture.

“Let’s just say I’ve been around this block before,” you said.

You continued talking shop with him and you offered your suggestion on the monster at hand. 

“A Chupacabra.”

“A what?” Dean asks looking at you as if you were insane.

“A Chupacabra. Every hunter worth his while has at least come across one of them in their time.”

“Yeah,” Dean says nervously. “I know that.” He gives off an unconvincing smile.

“Please tell me you’ve killed a Chupacabra before,” you say, wondering how good his bluff was.

“Duh, of course I have,” he says once again unconvincingly.

“Jody said that you were professionals, not rookies,” you let out.

“Listen,” Dean looked for a name.

“Y/N,” you said.

“Yeah, listen Y/N, me and my brother stopped the apocalypse,” he says with a more aggressive tone.

“After you started it,” you respond.

“On accident!”

“Well that’s assuring!” You say as you realize what a waste of time this has been. “You need to get out of this town before you get yourself killed. Or start the end of the world by, ‘accident,’ again.”

“What? Just because I haven’t killed one of these sons of bitches before doesn’t mean I can’t, or that I should just leave. People are dying here,” he says.

“I know people are dying, that’s why I called for hunters to come and stop it. But Chupacabra aren’t some vamp or ghoul that can be done quick and easy by some inexperienced professional wannabes. They are more dangerous, deadly, and the lore on them doesn’t help but give untested suggestions!”

“Well once I kill it I guess I’ll be experienced then won’t I?!” Dean gets up from the table and leaves.

“Or you’ll get yourself killed!” You yell out as he walks out the bar. “Jerk,” you mumble to yourself.

--

Later that evening, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Sure you gave Dean a warning and told him to leave but then again, you knew he wouldn’t listen and was destined to get himself killed. “That’s okay,” you think as you don’t believe in destiny. Anyway you looked at it, all you saw was their blood being on your hands. With that thought, you wiped the dust off of your old silver dagger and went to the spot that you and Dean discussed where it would most likely be at.

--

You pulled up in your old pick up to a clearing in between a farm and forest. You park the car next to a 67 impala and get out meeting Dean and his brother. “Nice wheels,” you say.

“Yeah, you’re not thanked,” Dean says as he glares at you. “What are you doing here?” He says with an annoyed tone.

“I’m here to save your ass and since I arrived here before you were stupid enough to walk in there unequipped, maybe I’ll just stop you before you have to be saved,” you respond.

“I’m sorry,” Sam butts in, “Who are you?” He asks.

“Nobody,” Dean answers. “And nobody should be going on her way before she gets too ‘familiar’ with all this.”

You roll your eyes and go over to Sam pulling out a silver dagger. “I’m Y/N. I met your brother earlier and tried to give him some good advice.”

“Telling me to leave is not advice!” Dean says.

“I also said that the lore wasn’t any good!” You hand Sam the dagger, “Here.”

Sam takes it from you, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “I like you much better than your brother. He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he replies. You go over to Dean as you pull out another silver dagger.

“I already have one,” he says waving it in your face.

“So what?” Sam asks. “Silver kills it?”

“Not really,” you answer. “You need its blood to kill it.”

“How are we supposed to get that?” Dean asks.

You send a sly smile his way, “Good question, Winchester.”

You pulled out tripwires from the back of your car and explained that once the Chupacabra surrounds the bait, he walks over a wire, cutting him and using the blood from the wire, you smear it on a dagger then go in for the kill.

“Where are we gonna find bait?” Dean asks.

You smile at Dean and look at Sam.

--

After setting up wires in between trees all around where Dean would stand in for bait, you and Sam hid behind a tree waiting for the Chupacabra to make a move.

“Are you sure this will work?” Sam whispers.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you reply.

“So are you a hunter?”

You let out a small chuckle, “Was a hunter.”

Sam laughs a little. “I know what you mean,” he says with a smile.

“You do?” You ask, curious.

“I was a hunter with my dad and brother until I got out. Dad went missing, got pulled back in. Stuff happened. Stayed in. Now it’s just me and Dean carrying on the family business.”

“Wow,” you shake your head, “and I know what you mean by ‘stuff happened.’ It just seems like it had a different effect on me.” You peak at Dean from behind the tree, sitting on a broken log with a small fire in front of him.

“I guess so,” Sam says.

You turn your attention back to him. “Do you regret it?” You ask. He looks at you confused. You clarify, “Regret getting back in?”

“Did for a while but now, if anything, I regret getting out,” he answers.

You ponder for a moment his words but stop once you hear it. The Chupacabra. You hit Sam's shoulder and signal its arrival. Sam nods and the two of you start moving towards the different wires.

Snikt

You and Sam both see the blood left on one of the wires right as the Chupacabra sees you. “Run!” You yell at Sam. Sam takes off with the monster chasing after him. You race over to the blood and wipe it on your dagger just in time for Sam to get thrown into a tree right beside you. You hide behind a tree and watch to see where it went. “Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, finding it nowhere in sight.

--

You slowly walk over to Sam and check his pulse. “Good,” you whisper, feeling a heartbeat. You creep over slowly to where Dean is. You see him. You see it.

Screech

It’s voice startles Dean as it jumps on him, clawing at his face and trying to take a bite out of his neck. Dean struggles with the beast, trying to kick, punch, and hurl it off of him. Suddenly, it’s weight becomes much heavier to Dean as it’s attacks stop. He tosses the Chupacabra aside.

“Told you I’d save your ass,” you said as you reached out your hand to help him up.

“Thanks,” he says looking at you wide-eyed. You wipe off the blood from your blade on the side of your pants.

“Come here,” you tell Dean. He walks over hesitant. You reach up to his face and tilt it down. You pull out a rag from your back pocket and wipe the excess blood from his face.

“Better?” You ask.

“Sure,” he says with a soft tone.

You look at him trying to get a read. “What is it?” You ask.

“It’s just,” he takes a deep breath, “you have no problem saving me but…”

“But what?” You demand, an angered tone in your voice.

“But when it comes to someone else, you just what? Look away?” Dean’s tone rises with frustration. “You clearly could’ve taken this on by yourself and got it wrapped up and done with after one person got killed. I just don’t get why you waited till twelve ended up dead before you did something.”

It was like his words pierced an old wound.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say softly, not sure you can even justify yourself.

Dean looks at the expression on your face and changes his tone in order to lighten the mood. “Your right,” he says with a smile, “What do I know? I’m just a jerk, right?” He asks, trying to make you feel better.

“Right,” you answer with a broken tone.

Sam walks over, “Hey, you mind if I borrow my brother for a moment?” He asks. You nod and the two walk away.

You hear them mumble but you remain silent and lost in your own forgotten thoughts.

--

Sam and Dean walk over to you. “Listen,” Sam says, “me and Dean were talking and we thought that it might be nice to have some help.” Before you have a chance to decline, he continues. “I know you said you got out but tonight, you are really good at saving lives. You're smart and great at hand-to-hand.”

“I don’t know about that,” you smile. “You seemed pretty unconscious during the actual fight.”

“I saw,” Dean says. “You are more capable than most hunters we know. Whoever taught you, taught you good. But we understand if you don’t wanna get involved.”

You looked up to the brothers and felt the feeling of family for a moment. It had been so long since you were a part of a team. A part of people who made something whole. “I’ll think about it,” you said.

“Great,” Sam said as he pulled out a fake FBI card. “Here’s our number. Just give us a call if you want in the chaos.” You smile and take the card. “Ready?” Sam asks Dean.

“Yeah,” he responds as Sam walks back to the car. “Hey,” Dean says to you. “Thanks for saving my life. And sorry for what I said ab--”

You cut him off. “Don’t mention it, Dean,” you say with a smile.

“First name basis? How very informal of you,” he says, returning the smile and walks off.

--

It wasn’t but a week later that you called Sam and decided to join their group of merry men, plus woman, and started to fight every hard hitter that came their way. You felt like you had a family again. And they were your family.

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

“Y/N? Y/N!”

“What?!” You answer agitatedly, turning around.

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice again,” Dean replies with a smile.

You roll your eyes as you turn back around facing the long stretch of road ahead of you. “Can I just knock him out again?” You ask Sam.

“No,” he says with a huff. “He might have a concussion. We want Dean fixed, not dead.”

“Are you sure about that?” You say sarcastically. Sam gives you another look.

“You wa… you want me dead?” Dean asks with a saddened tone.

You let out a huff realizing how sensitive Dean is now. You contemplate which is better: Lovey-dovey Dean or the stupid, sarcastic one. “No,” you turn around and look in the puppy’s eyes, “I don’t want you dead Dean. I just don’t like what's going on with you.” You smile at him realizing that this is still Dean and he still is your best friend.

“Oh,” he says with a smile. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He asks so innocently.

“No, not really, Dean.”

“Well, maybe after I kill Sam, me and you can figure something out together,” Dean says with a nod and smile.

You and Sam both turn around and in sync say, “What?!”

Sam starts to swerve the car. “Keep your eyes on the road!” You demand.

“He just said he was gonna kill me!” He exclaims.

“That doesn’t mean kill us in a car accident before he gets the chance!” You smack Sam on the back of his head. You look back at Dean, “Why do you wanna kill Sam?!”

“I don’t want to but he keeps getting in the way of me and you!” Dean answers.

“No! Bad Dean!” You smack him on his head. “Do not kill Sam! Don’t kill Cas either! You know what, just don’t kill anyone. Okay? No killing!”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

“You’re welcome,” you respond as you turn back around. You look at your hand and see that there is a bit of blood on the edge of your fingers. You turn to Dean who has his head buried in the corner. “Dean?!” He looks up at you with tears coming down his face. “What is it now?” You ask, letting out another sigh.

Dean’s lip starts to tremble and he mumbles out, “You,” he pauses to sniffle and wipe his tears on his sleeve, “You said I was bad and then,” he sniffs, “then you hit me.”

You look at Sam with a loss for words. “I,” you clear your throat trying to find your thoughts, “Sam?” You ask.

“Yeah?” He responds.

“Keep the car steady,” you demand.

“Wait, why?” He asks. You roll your eyes and try to crawl over the seat. “Y/N! What are you,” Sam lets out a huff, “You sure you wanna be in the back with him?” He asks as you plop in the seat beside Dean who is still cowering in the corner.

“He’s hurt, Sam. And like you said, we want to help him not kill him. Though, the latter would be the easier option.” Dean lets out another sob. “I’m kidding!” You say defensively. “Come here, Dean,” you order. Dean shakes his head and moves more away from you. “Dean,” you say sincerely, “please. Let me see you. Don’t you want to see me?” You ask, trying to get a response.

“Yes,” Dean whispers.

“Then come here.” Dean looks at you again and hesitantly scoots closer to you. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

Dean sniffs again. “No,” he says with his quivering lip.

You pause for a moment to look at Dean. Really, get a good look at him. This was Dean. The same Dean who you have known for years and the one who has saved your life more times than you can count. This same Dean was right in front of you, right now. Sure he was under a spell to be in love with you and you weren’t sure if this hurts you more than it does him but none of that mattered. You looked into Dean’s watery bright green eyes. You know that until you can find a cure, you risk hurting Dean by every mean or sarcastic comment you make. You can’t do that to him, you don’t want to do that to him. You love him and as of right now, he loves you.

You take a rag from the back of your pocket and signal for Dean to bring his head forward. You look in his eyes and gently place your hand on the side of his head. He lets out a sigh. You realize that this is the first physical interaction you two have had since this whole thing started. “It’s okay,” you say as you tilt his head down as you get a look at the top of it.

“What is it?” Sam asks looking at the two of you in the rear view mirror.

You pull out a little piece of ceramic from Dean hair. “Looks like the cook at the diner didn’t need Barbara,” you say as you wipe the blood from his head.

“What?” Sam asks, confused.

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. You lift Dean’s head back up and once again see the tears that still remain on his face. You take your hands and place them on his cheeks as you wipe the tears away. “Better?”

Dean gulps. “Sure,” he says as a huge smile returns to his face. He takes a deep breath and tries to move as close as the cuffs will let him.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a slight laugh.

“I just, I just wanna be close to you, Y/N,” he says and it makes you blush a little.

You smile and look at how happy he appears. Something that you have never seen before. “Dean?” You ask cautiously.

“Yes, my Love?” He answers sweetly.

“I mean this in the kindest way possible,” you smile trying to reassure your statement, “But I’d rather you not be so close cause you kind of smell like trash.” You watch as his smile changes and he moves away from you.

“Oh,” he says with sadness in his voice. He leans his head down and smells himself. “Oh,” he says again, understanding what you meant.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I wasn’t gonna say anything cause I didn’t think it was that important but yeah. It’s really bad.”

“Oh?” Dean looks at Sam then back at you. He looks at you with a bright grin. “I can fix it!” He says, starting to wiggle around the seat.

“Dean? What are you doing?” You ask, worried that he’s trying to break out of his cuffs. He starts to bite at his shirt.

“Dude!” Sam says, as Dean tries to grab his shirt with his teeth. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to,” he grabs the hem of his shirt with his teeth. He wriggles around causing his shirt to come off of him. His shirt comes completely off with it getting tied up in his cuffs. He takes a deep breath. “I was trying to take my shirt off so I didn’t smell like trash. See?” He looks at you as you look at him shocked on how he managed to do that among other things. “It’s better, right? Now we can be close again!” He smiles excitedly.

Dean was now in his boxers, without a shirt, handcuffed.

“Um…” You look at shirtless Dean which is a sight that you have indeed seen before but still, it was different now. “It’s not that much better,” you say, still in shock.

“I can take off my boxers!” he exclaims as he tries to pull them down.

“No!” you yell.

“No!” Sam copies.

You reach for his boxers trying to keep them from coming down. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No,” you say, making sure he gets the message.

“You sure?” Dean asks.

“Yes!” Sam yells.

“I’m, uh,” your voice cracks, “I’m sure.” You smile and take a breath.

“I just want to be close to you, Y/N! Close enough so that I can hold you and kiss you and fe--”

“Stop!” You say, trying to cut him off before the rating becomes R. “Nope! No need for any of that.” You look at Dean who still is enchanted by you.

“Whatever you say, my Love.”

“Right,” you say, mustering up another smile. You think for a moment if you would rather wrestle semi-naked Dean in order to get him to put on a shirt that smells like garbage or, rather sit in silence with a semi-naked Dean sitting as close as he possibly can to you. Out of your own self control and respect for Dean, you chose the latter.

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

After a long and grueling car ride complete with Romeo spitting out one complement after another, you were finally home. You had pulled up in the garage and were extremely thankful to see Cas waiting for you all.

Sam opened the car door and got out trying to stretch his limbs. “Hey, Cas,” he said.

“Hello,” Cas said, giving Sam a nod. “Where’s Dean?”

“Yo!” You called out from the backseat. Castiel walked over to the window. “Right here.”

“Why is he in his underwear?” He asks, tilting his head at you.

“Long story. Just do your thing,” you say with a smile. You hop out of the car and let Cas slide in.

“What?!” Dean says, trying to break free, “No! Don’t touch me!”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says as he reaches his two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t let them take my love for you away!” He tries to squirm away unsuccessfully. “I love yo--”

Dun

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

You, Cas, and Sam all look at, once again, an unconscious Dean, lying on the bed in the infirmary. Dean’s shirt has been put back on, though he still is in his boxers, and is handcuffed to the bed frame.

“You think you can cure him?” Sam asks Cas.

“It depends,” he answers.

“On what?” You ask.

“She was experimenting around and this same spell has caused other men to die. Correct?” You and Sam nod. “When it comes to a new spell, it is difficult to pinpoint the exact problem. And on top of that, this is the first one that has been successful. Not to mention that this witch is extremely old and powerful.”

You and Sam look at each other and you ask again, “So? Can you fix it?”

Cas sighs. “I can try but I cannot promise that I can fix it.”

Sam signals for Cas to go over to Dean. Cas sits on the edge of the bed and places his palm on Deans forehead. His hand lights up and as does Dean’s skeleton. You and Sam give each other a worried look. Cas then closes his hand and gets back to where he was standing.

“So?” You ask. “Did y--”

Dean wakes up and gasps. He tries to sit up but can’t due to the handcuffs. You and Sam run over to Dean’s side.

“Dean!” Sam says as his brother tries to calm down.

“What the...” Dean takes a look around but stops and looks to be in pain. Dean yells out, scrounging up his face.

“Dean!” Sam says again. “Wh--What is it?!”

“My head!” Dean screams. You then take a key to uncuff one of his hands which he immediately uses to rub his head.

“Dean! Are you alright?” You ask, helping Dean to sit up.

Dean gets himself under control and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m hungover and in pain!” He yells at you. “What the hell is going on? Why am I handcuffed to this stupid bed?!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says, trying to calm down Dean. “Just take it easy alright. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I, uh,” Dean shakes his head, “I remember this morning.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam smiles. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember you waking me up and then you said something.” Dean shifts his focus to Sam. “What was it that you said?”

“I said we had a long drive and I mentioned that you wouldn’t let me or--”

“Y/N!” Dean sees you and his eyes turn into a brighter and more intense shade of green for a moment. He changes back into the more love sick persona. “I remember everything,” he says with a happier tone, “well, kind of.”

“You do?” You ask as you can tell that something is different about him yet again.

“Yeah,” he looks around the room instead just at you. “I remember getting hit in the head a lot which is making things sort of fuzzy. But I do remember,” he pauses to look at you right in the eyes, “I remember that I love you, Y/N.”

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Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list is open!

Chapter four: Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man

@crazybutconfidentaf​ @doctorlilo​

[wafflewarriors]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 8—Skin

So… shapeshifters.

As if you didn’t have enough trust issues.

Now, not only did you have to worry about every angel or demon sent to spy on you…

...but now you had to worry about a slimy, homicidal, lying monster that could pretend to be literally anyone.

Great.

You sighed, dragging your fingers along your scalp as you brainstormed. How could you do this and get out in one piece?

Becky calls Sam because she’s worried about her brother Zach, who’s been accused of a murder he didn’t commit. And, well, the only way to stop that would be to tail the shapeshifter before it even gets to the couples.

An impossible task.

To make matters worse, you were going to have to intervene. Right when the shapeshifter comes to torture Emily with her boyfriend’s face. And if you were caught, it would just be another thing to add to the piling concrete evidence that you were a monster in the Winchester’s eyes.

You rubbed at your temple. Your anxiety really was through the roof lately. Always on edge and lightheaded.Though, there’s only so many nutrients one can get from a peanut butter sandwich.

You underlined their names on your notepad, Zach and Emily, tracing over the line. Then you gained the will to start up your car and drive off to stalk the poor couple.

///

Time ticked by slowly as you sat and waited outside the victim's home.

To be completely honest, you weren’t sure what to expect. All the monsters you’ve hunted so far had a valid reason to be what they were. Ghosts? They were hardwired to act in violent patterns. Wendigos? They were just feral animals. Demons? They were twisted, broken souls who lash out and wreak havoc. But only after decades upon centuries of endless torture.

But a shapeshifter? A shapeshifter has its own conscience. Even if it was horribly skewed from a life of resentment and shame.

You shook your head. Sentiment. The sentiment always gets to you. This isn’t a human. This is a monster. Do the job.

After staring blankly at the house for what felt like hours, a shadow moved. Your heart picked up, and you tried to look for any other movement. Nothing. 

You sighed. How did your life even come to this? You popped open your car door, slinking out of your seat as quietly as you could. It would be much easier if the shapeshifter didn't know you were coming.

You tread lightly up to the house, up their driveway, and peeked in windows. Just as you were about to admit it was your paranoia talking, something in the house shuddered.

Welp. Guess you hadn’t imagined it.

The front door was open. You let yourself in.

The house was dangerously quiet. The lights were deceivingly warm. Then you heard whimpering. Silver knife in hand, you tiptoed in their hallway, watching the source's door like a hawk. 

This is the dumbest thing you've ever done.

Throwing out your invasive thoughts, you prepared to cave the door in and stab the monster in the heart. If it had been your choice, you'd shoot it, but you didn’t have any silver bullets on hand.

You kicked the door in, sweeping your weapon through the room, but there was only the victim. Her breathing was labored, and you weren't dumb enough to try and help her before you ganked the shapeshifter.

You tried to signal that you were on her side, but she just sobbed into her gag.

"No, 'honey, I'm home'?" a male voice called.

You froze. Shapeshifter.

The shadow in the hallway crept up until his figure was visible, and his eyes were glowing. "Oh… but you're not him. You're a hunter, aren't you?" he said. "Here to slay me, little girl?"

"I'm here to make sure you don't hurt any more families."

"I'm sure you are." He smiled. "Are you going to come and stab me, then?"

"Considering it."

"You're afraid," he sneered. "You're a poor excuse for a hunter. You're inexperienced." He grinned and started walking forward. "Stab me, little hunter. Do your worst."

You charged, swinging at him with your knife, but he dodged the move. He kneed you in the stomach, stealing your breath. When you fell on all fours, he stepped down on your hand with the knife. "That was a stupid move."

The last thing you saw was the toe of his shoe.

///

You woke up, sick to your stomach.

Waking up feeling gross wasn't that abnormal, but it wasn’t usually this intense. You could tolerate a little hunger or thirst, or some smarting, but this was something else entirely.

Some kind of tarp was draped over you, but you didn’t have the energy to throw it off.

Your shoulders ached, arms pulled taut above you with no give.

You just tried to breathe through the pain.

A sawing noise came from your left. Through the ringing in your ears, someone was talking. Two someones. It clicked: you were in the sewers, and that sawing noise was Dean breaking from his ropes. Distantly, you wondered for how long. Guess that didn't matter now, though.

"...didn't just look like you. He was you," Sam said. "Or he was becoming you."

You were completely still. If they found you, you were dead… but if they left you, they'd kill the shapeshifter and you'd be left to rot. Both options sucked.

"What'd'ya mean?"

"I don't know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories."

You had to get out. But there was nothing to saw your hands against like Dean had. Just smooth metal and rope burns on your wrists.

"You mean like the Vulcan Mind Meld?"

"Yeah, something like that." Sam paused. "Maybe that's why he didn't just kill us."

Dean must have stumbled out of his ropes, because now his voice was traveling. "Maybe he needs to keep us live… for the psychic connection."

"Hands." Sam was being untied. "Yeah. Come on, we gotta go. He's probably at Rebecca's already."

"Wait," Dean said with a long pause. "The shapeshifter turned into that girl, right? So wouldn't that mean she's still down here?"

Your stomach dropped.

"I guess. Or he just removed her when he took us. For all we know she could be in a ditch," Sam said. "And honestly? Good riddance."

You weren’t sure if you were rooting for them to leave you or stay. Both options were bad.

"Or…" Dean said slowly. "She's just being quiet because she's afraid of us finding her."

Yeah, that about summed it up.

You listened to footsteps, deadly still and holding your breath. The footsteps stilled in front of you and you steeled yourself for the reveal.

The tarp was tossed away, and you stared fearfully into the bright green eyes of Dean freaking Winchester. Your mind was churning, working in fight or flight mode, but you could do neither. You were screwed.

The only thing that could save you now was the angels, and they didn't seem to be concerned enough to step in anytime soon.

"Well, hi," Dean said with a smile. It was smug and absolutely intended to be intimidating.

You stared, and that sick feeling in your stomach only deepened. Something told you that it probably wasn't just the anxiety making you sick, but you pushed it away. That could wait. Right now, you had other things to worry about.

Like, say, the Winchesters. 

And torture.

Dean raised an eyebrow to his brother, who walked around to get a look at you. "You know, if we had left you, the shapeshifter would have come back. Or worse—wouldn't have come back."

"I'm aware," you said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with them. The look in their eyes was overwhelming.

They smiled at each other, clearly amused at your situation.

You gained the courage to snap, "You going to kill me or what?" There was no trying to get it through their thick skulls that you weren’t the enemy here. Plus, maybe if the angels really believed you were in danger, they'd rescue you.

Dean shrugged. "That's up to you. I kind of want to hear your end of the story."

You frowned. "Really?" Maybe there's hope here. Maybe you really can form an alliance—

"Nah, I'm just kidding. I don't want to hear what you have to say." Dean admitted.

You scowled. "I didn't kill Jessica." They were giving you time to explain yourself, so of course you were going to use it.

"You were the only one there, and Sam saw you."

"I was there to save her. Figures you'd think I can just put someone on the ceiling and set them on fire."

"I wouldn't be too sure. Looks like you made a handy dandy flame thrower out there. Who's to say you aren't the thing our Dad has been hunting?"

"I wasn't even alive when your mother died. I'm telling you: I. Am. Human." You thrust your hand out, showing them the burns. "See? Scar tissue. I'm a human being—"

"How do you know that? How did you know about our mother?" Dean demanded. Of course he'd focus on that comment. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"It's not like it's a secret. It was written all over your father's journal," you lied.

Sam squinted. "Who are you?"

You let your head fall back onto the pole. Just kill me already. "Someone who just wants to go home."

"Boohoo for you," Dean spat.

"At least you're able to look for your family."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

You yanked at your ropes, and the Winchester's tensed. But you were still held tight. "We don't have time for this. Either you kill me right now, or you take me with you. Does the name Rebecca ring any bells?"

They scowled, but it got them moving. Dean nodded to Sam. "We'll come back for her."

You twisted to look at them as they walked away. "What?! No! Wait! But I can help! Just untie me and I can help!"

"Not a chance," Dean said. "See, I don't trust stalkers." And he walked away.

"Please," you said. "Please... I... please I don't… I don't feel right." Your voice echoed. Pipes dripped in reply.

They had already left you.

Your mind ran. Your breaths were shallow, biting back the nausea that threatened to overtake you. You blinked, slow and long, feeling off. You had to get out. Whatever acid trip you were on, you needed out of the ropes and out of the sewer.

If you had a little slack… you might be able to gnaw at the rope and loosen it. But that would mean dislocating your shoulder.

You braced yourself, getting ready to pull your arm out of your socket, but you chickened out. The anticipation was making your heartbeat like a drum against your chest. You can’t do that. You can't, your anxiety told you. It'll hurt. You don't know what you're doing. You've never done this. It's going to hurt.

But your logical side argued back. All it takes is one motion. One swift second and you could break yourself free, with the downside of shoulder problems. You don't want to be down here, tied up and defenseless. A dislocated shoulder won't hurt you—but the Winchesters and a shapeshifter definitely will. Do it.

You were pretty sure you were going to have a panic attack if you kept thinking about this. You took a breath, and swiftly yanked.

The pain was blinding. Your vision went white and you screamed. You panted heavily, riding through the wave of agony before it became a constant excruciating burn.

You reached your mouth for the rope on your good arm—since you could reach it now—and tugged at it with your teeth. It was old rope, and it tasted like dust. You pulled just enough for the loop around your hand to loosen, and it was free. You then worked the rope away from your neck and abdomen and, lastly, untied the rope around your dislocated arm.

You stood up too fast and saw a sea of grey. The jostling of your arm had you stumbling onto your knees and vomiting what little bile was in your stomach. Gross.

The shapeshifter would be back soon with… Emily, was it? Or was it Becky? Rebecca. You were losing your focus.

You also didn't know how to reset a dislocated shoulder. Just looking at it was making you queasy. The bone was pointed upward, your shoulder flattened. It was bruising and swelling, and god it hurt. It looked so unnatural you thought you might puke again.

You didn't though. You steadied yourself, knowing what was ahead of you: you were going to have to relocate it yourself.

You had no choice. Nobody to run to. Everyone that you knew was your enemy.

You braced your back against a metal pole, grabbing your arm with your good one. You pulled it straight forward, not yanking, but attempting to guide it back in. You cried as it popped back into place. 

You wiped away a few stray tears with your good hand.

You then worked on a temporary sling with the rope that had been used to tie you up. It turned out kind of sucky and awkward, as you only had one hand available, but it was enough to keep the arm steady against your chest. 

Your arm still freaking hurt.

You peered around, squinting at the shiny pile in the corner of the room. It had a tarp over it, but it must have shifted and revealed it's contents. You walked over, marveling at the mass of silver weapons just lying around.

"You keep it here? Just lying around? For anyone to take?" You grabbed a gun loaded with silver bullets (which was probably the Winchester’s, now that you thought about it), and your silver knife as a token of your survival.

Now to get the hell out of here, you thought.

"That could be my catchphrase," you muttered. Your chest was still heaving, in pain and in adrenaline. What a nightmare.

You ran, biting your tongue as the motion shook your arm. But there was no time to care, and definitely no time to pity yourself.

Somewhere behind you, there were echoing footsteps.

"Cas," you said softly. Shakily. "Cas, if you're out there, please come and get me. I know we're not on the best terms… but my arm, I got a bum arm and I'm in trouble—please—"

There was no reply.

You huffed. Typical. You took one more turn through the sewers, and you saw light.

The footsteps grew louder and as did your heart. You reached for the grating, working at the screws to try and pry the thing open. It took effort though. It hurt your fingers to strain like this, twisting each screw until they clattered noisily onto the tile. You grimaced each time, taking little glances to see if the footsteps matched a shadow.

As you worked on the last screw, you watched you—not actually you, shapeshifter-you—march your way. It was like looking into a fun house mirror. Except not so fun.

You pushed the grating away, shoving your frame through the entry. You rolled, struggling to get on your feet so you could run off.

A hand grabbed for your feet but you managed to stumble back, knife raised in front of you with your bad arm.

The shapeshifter crawled into the light like it was normal to walk on all fours. He mimicked your terrified look, then smirked at you. "Are we back here again? You know you'll never win." You watched as he drew closer, tensing.

When he was just five feet in front of you, you said, "No." And he paused. You whipped out the gun with your good arm, shooting him right in the chest. He floundered at first, but then crumbled into a motionless heap.

"I don't make the same mistakes twice."

The shapeshifter was dead. You stared at your face—its face—as you swayed and the world dipped with it, your mind snuffed out like a candle.

You were caught by two sturdy arms.

///

Tags: @rosaren2498 , @pillowjj , @busy-bee-angel-misska , @elle-r , @dagnylokisdottir , @omg-we-really-doo , @millieccino , @rycbar-221b

[marril96]

In Death’s Way

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: After you sacrifice yourself to save her, Rowena goes down a downward spiral while waiting for you to come back to life.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gore

A/N: Huge thanks to EmeraldFlames from AO3 for giving me the idea to write this!

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

It happened so fast.

One moment you were screaming Rowena's name and pushing her away from a razor-sharp blade — pure iron, the perfect witch killing weapon — as it swung at her.

The next that very same blade was buried into your stomach and you were gasping, and then you were on the floor screaming your lungs out.

For a few seconds it was as if time had frozen. Sam flinched, eyes wide in surprise. Dean stared, taken aback. Rowena stood still as a statue. Frozen in place. Unmoving, even as her heart raced a thousand beats a minute and her throat was so tight, so dry that it made it hard to breathe. Her eyes were on you; on your writhing form; on the blood that seeped from your wound, drenching your shirt, forming a crimson puddle around you; on your eyes that were terrified and lips that were trembling even as scream after scream tore free from them as pain spilled over you.

It had been Rowena's idea to take this case. When Sam had called — he was always the one who called, knowing full well she was very, very unlikely to say no to him, the softie she'd become — practically begging for assistance, she'd said yes right away.

Someone had been killing witches; young girls, more children than women. A rogue hunter, all the evidence pointed to. Rowena couldn't decline. There was that pesky friendship she'd hard with Sam that nagged at her, willed her to accept, but for the most part, she wanted to help out because those girls reminded her of her. They were young, inexperienced, just coming into their power. Vulnerable in ways they didn't even know. Buds on their way to becoming beautiful flowers. The same way she had been all those centuries ago. And, just like that, their lives were taken from them. All that potential for greatness, that long life ahead of them, that magic about to bloom and prosper gone forever.

It was wrong.

Rowena wouldn't — couldn't — stand for it. You'd begged her not to go, to call and say she'd changed her mind, but her mind was made up. She was going to avenge those girls. Worried out of your mind, going on and on about the dangers — that Rowena was perfectly aware of all on her own — you decided to join her.

You didn't always accompany her, but for the most part the two of you were a package deal. The Winchesters either accepted both or neither. The brothers always appreciated the extra help, though. A second pair of lips to cast spells could never be a bother (even if said lips, for the majority of the time, ranted about the dangers of what you were doing).

That was the thing about you. You cared about Rowena. You loved her. If she was in danger, you protected her. If she walked into danger, you walked in beside her with your hand in hers. Rowena returned the favour, but there were times when she wasn't sure if this kind of a relationship was a blessing or a curse. She loved being cared for, loved being pampered and showered with attention and affection. Adored it. Craved it. But it came with certain risks, like you doing stupid things to get her out of trouble her own stupidity had gotten her into.

It was true what they said — love made one a bloody idiot.

Tracking the hunter's residence was relatively easy. A simple tracking spell worked wonders with the spots of blood he'd left on his latest crime scene (the teenager he'd killed had scratched him good and drew enough blood to use to pinpoint his location). Sneaking up on him, taking him out — that was a whole different story.

The bastard had had the outside of his home secured with traps. Sam and Dean took what felt like ages disabling them. The house was quiet, all the lights shut down. Figuring he was most likely asleep, the four of you snuck in.

Only to be instantly ambushed by even more traps, and then the hunter himself. The man was old, but surprisingly fit for his age. He may have looked frail, but his skill, the finesse with which he moved pointed to a healthy, extremely skilled individual.

The traps were enough to — at least temporarily — incapacitate Sam and Dean, and the hunter used that to turn on Rowena. His house was encased in iron. The bloody metal was everywhere; in every decoration, every frame that hung on the yellowed wallpapered walls. There were bits of it in the floor, and dangling by the windows. Rowena could feel her magic, but it was faint. She couldn't reach it; it was too far away, almost at the tip of her fingers but not close enough to grab it, to unleash it. It stirred in her veins, warned her blood, but it was trapped, confined within the cage of her body.

As she threw random objects and hurled insults at the assaulting man, she called forth her magic. Almost there but not quite. Not strong enough. Not close enough. Just out of reach. Come on! She spat out spells, which only elicited mockery from the hunter. She wanted to wipe the smugness off his face. If not with magic, then with her nails.

Then the knife struck and she hadn't had time to dodge and suddenly she was pushed, stumbling, almost falling, and you were in her place with the knife buried deep into your abdomen.

The hunter grinned, proud of his work, and slid the blade out in one easy, learned pull. Blood instantly started pouring, and you fell on your back like a sack of potatoes, too heavy for your trembling knees to hold you up.

"No!" Rowena screamed, throat running raw. Tears blurred her vision, a few brave ones slipping free.

No. No. No. No. No.

Killing young witches — children — was bad enough. Harming you, killing you…

No!

She'd lost her entire family. Had lost Oskar. Gavin. Fergus. Each due to her quest for power, her own greed and thirst for greatness and revenge. You were the only one she had left. The only good thing in her life. The one who'd never judged her, never tried to change her. Who loved her just as she was, even when she didn't deserve it. Who showed her that it was okay to love again, that love was strength rather than a weakness. Who wiped her tears and soothed her nightmares and held her tight without her having to say a word. You knew what she needed, when she needed it, and you gave it, generously, selflessly, not once asking for even a kiss in return.

Rowena had done it again. She'd been careless, and, the lovesick fool you were, you got hurt trying to protect her. That had been your thing from the very beginning. Saving her. Even when she didn't want to be saved, back when she thought cruelty and selfishness were just ways of life, you were there to convince her otherwise. Her dame in shining armour, always looking after her.

Fool, she thought. Bloody fool. But you were her bloody fool.

It wasn't that she wouldn't do the same for you. She would, in a heartbeat. But she'd lived a long, long life. Had experienced the world in so many ways. Even if she were to die for the umpteenth time (she'd stopped counting a while ago), she would have been okay.

You, on the other hand, had never died before. Even though she'd secured you with one of her resurrection sachets, Rowena had promised herself to never let you have to use it. To never let it go that far. Dying was a harrowing experience. It wore on the body, on the soul, on the heart and mind. At this point in her life, she was used to it. The last thing she wanted was for you to go through it.

Who was this hunter to think he had a right to your life? To the lives of all those witches he'd killed? What made him think he was entitled to them? Those young women had never hurt anyone in their lives. You had never hurt anyone (anyone who hadn't deserved it, that was). You'd done nothing but love Rowena, save her yet again.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

He needed to pay.

Magic stirred in Rowena's veins. Roiled and coiled, twisted and whirred. A pulsating wave of power flooded her, and it was as if all dams broke at once. As if all the iron guarding the house had melted into nothingness. Magic was strong inside her. Filled her up to the brim, got her high like a drug. Her eyes glowed purple; a threat, a warning of what was to come.

The hunter gasped, frightened, terrified to the bone, and, goodness, it felt good. He backed away, tried to run off, but Sam and Dean, finally freed from the trap, perched in the doorway, blocking his path. There was no running now. No more innocent lives lost at his hands. No more cruelty and pain.

Rowena didn't have to say the words. Didn't have to point. All she did was look at him with her tear-stained eyes and think it, will it, urge it, and the man broke into screams. He clutched his head in desperation, eyes wide, body writhing and shaking. Legs wobbly.

"P-p-please!" he managed to squeeze out, as if it would do anything. As if Rowena would forget what he'd done, what he'd tried to do. Her old ways were behind her, but she was still vindictive. She still dealt justice to those who'd wronged her. He was knocking on the wrong door for mercy.

His legs gave way, and he crumbled to his knees with a thud so loud it was as if his bones shattered on impact. A trail of blood slid from his nose, a thin, watery trickle that soon thickened into a stream. His eyes and mouth suffered the same fate, crimson leaking out of them. He was still able to scream, though his throat had run raw and the sound dialed down; not much, but enough for Rowena to notice, to take pleasure in the fact that she'd done that to him. That it was her magic, her will that, bit by bit, sent him to ruin.

It was a messy scene, even by her standards. It reminded her of her demon-killing spell; gods, it had been so long since she'd last used it. She'd almost forgotten how good it felt to destroy something, to have it fall apart before her. To watch it wither and shatter and crumble, and know it was her that did it. Her vengeance. Her justice.

People — human and supernatural alike — feared her for a reason. She hadn't built herself reputation for nothing. She'd gone soft in recent years, had changed, but that part of her was still very much alike. The only difference was, nowadays she went after the guilty. After the bad and the horrible, the ones that hurt innocents.

The ones that hurt you.

The hunter's snow-white skin flushed the crimson of blood that slicked down his orifices. His screams quieted. Body stilled. A gurgle escaped him as he tried to release a sound — a scream, a plea, all swallowed down. His hands shot down to his stomach, and he laid down, curling up like a child. His breathing was hitched, labored. Moans managed to break through the blood pouring out of his mouth.

His skin got redder, darker, and with it he quieted down. His eyes, filled with cruel smugness a mere moment ago, started spilling out of their sockets. A liquid white resembling pus from a popped pimple. His cheeks puffed up, red as ripe cherries, and then they, too, liquefied. The rest of him followed; skin falling open, sliding down; insides pouring out, mixing with it.

What was once a man was now a mush of blood and flesh. The clothes he was wearing sank into it. The carpet stained with it, absorbed it, let it glue to it.

Amidst her anguish, Rowena smiled. Revenge truly was a proud, massive cunt.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, flabbergasted.

She paid him no mind, rushing to your side, falling to her knees beside you.

"Rowena," you said, tears sliding down your face.

"I'm here." She reached for your hands, which rested on your stomach, over the wound, and grabbed hold of one of them. Your fingers were warm, sticky, slick with blood. She gripped them tight. "I'm here, love."

"It hurts." Your voice was so weak. So faint.

Rowena's heart shattered. "I know." She offered a smile, a forced one she hoped passed for real. You could always tell the difference. "It's going to be okay."

"I-I-I'm dying," you whimpered.

"Only for a short while," she assured you. "A few minutes, and you will be as good as new!"

Dying and coming back — it was easy. Stressful, but easy. You were going to be okay. Rowena would make sure of it.

"I'm scared," you said.

Rowena tightened her hold on your hand. "You've nothing to be scared for. I'm here now, and I will be there when you wake up. I'm not going to leave you."

You nodded. Released a hurt, terrified whine. "What if I don't come back? What if—"

"You will come back," she told you. Her sachets were foolproof. She knew the spell by heart. She wouldn't make a mistake, not at the cost of your life. "I promise you, Y/N. This is only temporary."

"Okay." Your other hand slithered over your joint hands. Fingers curled around them. "Okay."

"Okay," Rowena repeated.

It wasn't okay. Far from it. But it would be. Once you came back, everything would be okay again.

A small smile crept on your mouth before life faded from you. A breath, a whimper, and you were dead. You looked almost happy. At peace. As if you'd lived a long and fulfilled life, and were ready to greet death with open arms.

"Rowena," Sam said, careful, tentative as always, breaking the silence that settled over the foreign house, "I'm—"

"She will be back," Rowena said before he could say the word. Sorry. He had nothing to be sorry for. You weren't gone. Not for long. "She has one of my sachets." As if to make sure, her hand slid down to your thigh. She caressed the place where she'd sewn in the sachet; it had been messy work, bloody, exhausting, but it was worth it.

Sam let out a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"Do we just… wait?" asked Dean.

"Aye. But it might take a while."

It could be minutes, or hours. Depending on the severity of the death. Considering you'd died by an iron blade, there was no telling how long it would take for magic to put you back together.

"Let's go home, then," Sam said. "We can move her, right?"

"Of course," Rowena said. Better to take you somewhere comfortable than leave you on the cold, dirty ground.

She shuddered as the memory of her last death hit. Lucifer's hard-soled boot slamming into her skull. Flames eating up her skin, devouring it like acid. The fear. The loneliness. You'd only found her after it was over, after she was nothing but a pile of bones, charred beyond recognition.

As much as she hated being there all alone, she was grateful you were out when the Devil had struck. There was no telling what he would have done to you if he'd found you there. Rowena wouldn't have been the only one with trauma. PTSD, you'd called it. She'd never gotten an official diagnosis, but the symptoms fit.

It took a long while for her sachet to heal the damage inflicted on her. It took even longer for the nightmares to subside, for the fear to fade. There were still times she was afraid, and nights she'd dream of it and wake up drenched in sweat. You were there through it all. Had promised to be there no matter what, and fully intended on making good on it.

And, she promised to herself, she would be there for you as well.

Sam took you into his arms. Rowena watched, hating that she had to let go of your hand, that she had to step away. Sam was gentle. He carried you to the car with utmost care, and slowly laid you on the backseat, your head nestled in Rowena's lap.

She caressed your forehead the entire way to the Bunker. Counted the minutes when you would return and look up at her with those warm eyes and make this horrible day into nothing but a memory, a bad one to be discarded and rarely thought of. My sweet girl, she thought to herself. The only good thing she had left. The light of her life. I love you.

Sam and Dean got you settled into one of the spare bedrooms. It wasn't much, but it was clean, and the bed was comfortable enough for you to feel safe waking up. Rowena was immensely grateful. They offered to find her some clean clothes, but she declined. Her blouse and dress pants were good, even if they were stained with blood. Your blood, which, for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend, made it less bad. It would have been one thing if it were a stranger's. Yours was familiar. A part of you.

Rowena, as politely as she could, asked to be alone, and the brothers respected the wish. She sat down beside you and reclaimed her hold on/of your hand. Your skin was cold as ice, freezing, but the touch still made her feel safe. At home. Her fingers wrapped around yours. Squeezed as hard as they could, as if the pressure would make you come back faster.

"Foolish girl," she chastised half-heartedly.

She'd told you countless times your devotion to her would be your undoing. You'd always chuckled and replied with something like, "So be it."

And so it was.

So foolish. Even now, years into your relationship, Rowena couldn't tell what it was about her that made you love her so much. She was sure of one thing — she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve half the affection you'd given her.

Foolish girl.

"I love you so much."

She'd never loved anyone — not even Fergus' bastard father — the way she loved you. There was something about you, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, that made it impossible for her not to love you. You were a peculiar girl. Strange. Different.

Hers.

The knowledge of it felt… exhilarating. Right. You were hers, and she was yours. Forever, if magic were to allow it. If you wanted it for Rowena wanted nothing more than to spend the eternity with you.

"So much," she repeated, allowing a smile to break to the surface. "You foolish girl."

It had been less than an hour, but it felt as if Rowena were waiting for days. Her hand remained on yours, eyes darting between your face — your calm, impossibly peaceful face — and your wound. Come on, she urged. Hoped. Begged. Wake up.

And, eventually, you did.

It started with a spark. Rowena flinched, startled, as a spark lit up on your thigh. Even through your pants, the light — a beautiful, mesmerizing purple — was bright and clear. It traveled up your body in a steady trail, like neon paint slithering over your skin. The light settled in your chest in a wild burst of color, the magic of life spilling over you, filling you up. Giving back what was lost.

Your eyes snapped open. Mouth fell wide as your lungs craved air. You were panting, heaving, sucking in the oxygen as if you were about to drown.

The light framed your stomach, formed a perfect circle around your gaping wound. As it closed in on it, the flesh knit itself together until your stomach was whole again. No scars. Not a blemish in sight. The only reminder of the injury the dry blood drenching your clothes.

"What—" your voice was coarse, scratchy, like sand brushing against skin, "—the—" a breath, deep, almost painful, "—fuck?!"

Rowena breathed out in relief. Yes. You were back. Good as new, just as she'd predicted. Still, doubts, however small they were, had nibbled at her, sneered from the back of her mind, and she was glad to have proven them wrong. You were back. You were you. That was all that mattered.

"Welcome back, Y/N," she said, as if greeting you upon your return from a shopping trip. As if the predicament you'd found yourself in was an everyday occurrence.

"I-I died." The realization settled like a punch to the face, and your features hardened. "Oh, my god, I died! I was dead!"

"Yes," Rowena confirmed because what else was she supposed to do? You died and came back. There was no sugar-coating it.

"The bastard stabbed me!" There was so much rage in your voice that it made a tinge of pride light up inside of Rowena. You looked to your stomach, ran your hands over it, then breathed out, relieved to find no marks.

"You'll be happy to know he's dead," Rowena said. You tilted your head up like a puppy. "I took care of him myself." Her hand reclaimed the hold of yours. "Nobody kills my girl and gets away with it."

You smiled. "My hero."

She wouldn't go that far, but she supposed it was an accurate description. She'd saved you. Avenged you. And she would do it again in a heartbeat.

She would do anything — anything — for you.

"How long was I out?" you asked.

"Almost an hour." You would've come back sooner had you not died by iron. The bloody metal was tricky. It destroyed magic, nullified it; the sachet's magic needed time to fight it off.

"Damn."

You brought your hands to your face. Slid them down to your neck, chest, legs. Wrapped your arms around yourself, around your knees. Felt up your hair, your breasts, your stomach; your healed stomach coated with the same dried blood that clung to your hands.

"I was dead." It was as if the reality of it only now sank in. Your eyes puffed up. Redness filled them, and tears spilled down your face. A bitter, unstoppable downpour. "Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!"

Rowena was quickly at your side, arms flying around you. You pressed your head to her chest, buried your face in her blouse, and started sobbing. It was a heartbreaking sound. Desperate. Wounded and vulnerable, like the wail of a child seeking comfort.

"It's okay," she said. "The first time is always overwhelming." Hers had been, as well, many centuries ago. She hadn't sobbed, but there were tears and discomfort and the feeling of wanting to escape her own — dead, about to rot, newly resurrected — skin. "Let it out."

"Am-am I gonna be okay?" you whimpered.

"Yes," Rowena said firmly, truth radiating off her words. She hadn't sugarcoated the bad, and she wouldn't the good, either. "This is just shock. Give it a day, and you will be fine."

You nodded. Sniffled. Whined into her blouse like a puppy.

Gods. If she wasn't putting on a strong front for you, she would have broken down as well. She willed her emotions to stay hidden, buried. She could cry later. Right now, what mattered the most was you.

It took a few minutes for you to calm down. Rowena held you, cooed at you, comforted you until you raised your head, wiped your face with your sleeve, and muttered that you were fine.

"Sorry," you said. "I don't know what came over me."

"Like I said, it was shock," Rowena told you. "It's natural. Dying is a stressful process, and so is resurrection."

"Was it like that for you, the first time?"

"Aye. You get used to it after a while." There was a touch of bitterness in her tone. She cleared her throat. "That said, I hope you never get used to it." You looked up at her. She raised a forefinger in what was supposed to be a threat, but she knew you were way past being intimidated by her. She doubted you ever truly were. "Don't you dare do this ever again!"

"It's not like I wanted to die," you defended.

"You put yourself in a bad situation—"

"To save you!"

"I'm not worth it!" she snapped. Why couldn't you understand that?

"You are to me!" you retorted.

You stupid, stubborn girl! "I—"

"You're worth it," you repeated, a tad softer. "You fucking are! I'd do anything for you."

Gods! "And I would for you, but—"

But she'd lived a long and fulfilled life. She'd died dozens of times. She could handle it.

You cut her off yet again. "No buts! I'm not sorry I did it. I'd do it again if I had to." You grabbed your hands, brought them to your lap. Twined your fingers with hers in gentle knots. "I love you, Rowena."

Shatter her heart, why didn't you? She sighed. "And I love you, dearest." You had no idea how much. "I just… I don't want you to end up like me."

"You're awesome! Who wouldn't wanna be like you?" you said light-heartedly.

Rowena gave a small laugh. "You know what I meant."

"I know." You squeezed her hands. "I'm gonna be okay. I promise. You don't have to worry about me."

"That's easier said than done."

"I guess." You smiled. "Now you know what it's like for me when you tell me not to worry. And don't tell me it's different!"

It was. Because she was an almost-four-hundred-year-old formerly evil witch. And you were… you. The love of her life. The only family she had left.

"You're my girl," you added.

"Bloody sap," Rowena accused playfully.

"You know it," you said with a chuckle.

Your arms fell around her, and she found herself enveloped in a hug so tight it was squeezing the life out of her. She didn't mind, opting to return it with just as much ferocity. Gods, she loved you. Her heart ached with it, throbbed with it like a hammer in her chest. She never wanted to let you go. Never wanted to be away from you again. Never wanted to lose you, even if it was temporary.

"I'll try not to die again, though," you said after a moment of silent cuddling. "It sucked."

Rowena could only laugh. "Death is a cruel mistress."

The cruelest of them all.

But the two of you could beat her. Together.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @collectorofsecretsandsouls​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @rowenaslilwitch​ @midnight-lestrange​