#something something suicidal dean

[supernatural-ate-my-face]

Dean's love for Castiel is literally something you can chart the growth of with data points. Just using Dean's reactions after each time Castiel dies.

Season 4: oh wow he died doing the hottest thing ever ('making it up as we go.') Nice.

Season 5: (no time to react before he's back) Are you literal god??

Season 7(first time) denial, then cursing cas out for his choices (ie, choosing crowley instead of dean... Big Feelings on display)

Season 7 (about 3 seconds after the first time in season 7): I'm going to be upset about this the rest of the year, have full on nightmare ptsd from it, and project it onto every relationship and interaction in my life from now on.

Season 8: I will be so traumatized by this that the memories won't even form properly and I won't even be able to SPEAK ABOUT IT AT ALL. Period.

Season 9: only about 6 seconds before he's back, but still a significant amount of wailing his name.

Season 12: depression, rage, eventual suicide

Season 15: Sobbing hysterically. Not even caring that Sam is calling because everyone is dead. Not giving a fuck about any other actual thing in the rest of the world no matter the stakes. Followed by:

'Castiel wants me to live, and I suppose I've internalized the message that I am not a terrible, unworthy person, so I will live and not kill myself so that his sacrifice means something. J/k thank god a fucking rebar. Don't call an ambulance. Don't bring me back. Please let me die.'

We need a chart. I need a chart.

[phaeton-flier]

The Boeing Whistleblowers Weren't Assassinated

Anyone who looks into this past a few memes and headlines realizes that it's not actually much of a conspiracy.

The first whistleblower, John Barnett, did his whistleblowing back in 2017. The legal proceedings he was in before he died were related to a defamation case against Boeing, who "he claimed deliberately hurt his career and reputation because of allegations he’d made of grave safety breaches on the aircraft company’s production line."

He was suffering from PTSD and Anxiety Attacks from the length of the case, which shows the unjust levels of stress you get form being a whistleblower, but which also are not surprising comorbidities from suicide. Add to the fact that his wife had died a little over a year before, and it's a lot less suspicious that he would kill himself.

He did not tell his family "If I die, it wasn't suicide". The alleged witness was a friend of his mom who claimed he said it. That's not something we should treat as solid evidence.

The second whistleblower, Joshua Dean, got the Flu, then pneumonia from the Flu, then got MRSA in the hospital. These are very common diseases that also have C-grade death rates: Only ~30% of patients die of it, so it hardly makes sense as an assassination weapon.

Boeing has 32 whistleblower complaints, which is shocking but if they're going around killing whistleblowers they sure seem to be behind the fucking curve on it.

In both cases these deaths came long after the initial complaints, such that killing them doesn't get rid of the complaints, and given the 32 other cases it sure doesn't seem like they're trying to scare off new ones.

And beyond that, killing off whistleblowers is a strategy that only makes sense if you think of Boeing as a single organism and not an abstraction made of thousands of people. Yes, it's theoretically better for Boeing's bottom line if whistleblowers die, but the executives responsible for the fuck-ups these whistleblowers are pointing out? Won't go to jail for them. They will go to jail if they're caught hiring an assassin, something they would have zero practice doing and would be highly likely to fuck up like they did the company if they tried, and that risk isn't worth a little extra bonus on your stock options or whatever.

I really do not want this "Boeing killed the whistleblowers OMG" shit to stick around because it's blatantly unsupported and it will scare off future whistleblowers if this becomes common bullshit wisdom.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Babylon The Great Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, self-harm and suicidal ideation, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Series Summary

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood Chapter 2 - Under My Skin Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me Chapter 5 - If You Let Me Chapter 6 - All The Noise Chapter 7 - Something I Can See Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart Chapter 9 - Does The Feeling Haunt You Chapter 10 - Look and See Chapter 11 - You Might Drown Chapter 12 - Watch You Work The Room Chapter 13 - You'll Have to Believe It Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever Chapter 15 - Before It Falls Apart Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It Chapter 17 - You Come Back Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New Chapter 20 - Wait for Me Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue Chapter 23 - You've Been Waiting to Break Chapter 24 - Just Hold On Chapter 25 - And It Was Written (6/19)

Pslams (In-Series Bonus Chapters)

Can You Hear Me - You sit on the roof of your car. Takes place a month after Chapter 15. I'll Keep On Waiting - Dean watches you, and Jo shares some thoughts. Takes place after Chapter 19. So Go On - Sam Chapter! Takes place after Chapter 20. Spinning Around - You, Dean, and allegedly Sam go to the movies. Takes place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20. Just Pretend - You and Dean have some dreams. Takes place almost any time after Chapter 20. On My Way - Dean looks at some fruits. Takes place around Chapter 23.

Extras From Me

Listen to the Playlist! Memes!

Stuff By You Guys!!! (Art, Memes, and Anything more)

Meme Art by @dammbi Dean Art by @dammbi Memes 1, and 2, by @dammbi Soul Art by @youdontknowe Princess Art by @youdontknowe Language Art by @imnotmentallyst4ble Princess Moodboard by @deans-yn Playlist by @imnotmentallyst4ble Series Moodboard by @dammbi Journal Spread by @imnotmentallyst4ble Memes by @brtodd Princess and Dean Art by @youdontknowe

[castielscaplan]

No Room For Mistakes (dean w.)

Summary: Dean saves you from a hunt gone wrong and some feelings get involved.

Warnings: feelings, angst, reader almost gets hurt on a hunt, dean's angry and worried. the L word is used.

WC: 531

A/N: shout out to my beta @mermaidxatxheart ilysm <3

Read on ao3!

The motel room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the neon sign flickering outside the window as the bedside lamps barely shone through the shades. You stood by the table, hands braced against its surface, your breath uneven as the weight of the night settled over you.

You were scared but you'd never admit it. Not even to Dean, though he's the one that had saved your ass from getting killed tonight.

Dean paced near the door, jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. The hunt had gone sideways. Way sideways. And you had almost—

"You shouldn’t have gone in alone," Dean’s voice cut through the thick silence, rough with anger.

You exhaled sharply, refusing to turn around. "I didn’t have a choice, Dean."

"Bullshit," he snapped.

You spun to face him, anger all over your face to mask the terror that was quickly subsiding. "It was either that or let an innocent family die, Dean!" Your voice wavered, frustration and exhaustion mixing in.

Dean raked a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. "You almost died."

"You think I don’t know that?" you shot back. "But I don’t have the luxury of making mistakes. Every move I make could get me killed. It’s just the way it is in this hellfire life! You know this, so do I!"

Dean took a step closer, his green eyes burning with something unreadable—anger, fear, something deeper. "That’s not how this works," he said, voice lower now, but no less intense. "We don’t do this alone. You don’t do this alone. You need to tell me when you're going on goddamn suicide missions!"

You swallowed, the fight in you faltering just a little as you looked away from him. "I knew what I was doing."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah? Then tell me—what would I have done if you didn’t come back?" His voice cracked, just slightly, and it hit you harder than any yell ever could. "Do you think I would ever want to live without you?"

You blinked, suddenly aware of just how close he was now. Close enough that you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

Your throat went dry. "Dean…"

He exhaled sharply, then ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. "Just—just don’t do that again, okay? I can’t…" He trailed off, looking away.

Something in your chest clenched. You knew Dean. Knew how hard it was for him to say things. But this? This was as close to a confession as you were ever going to get.

So instead of answering, you reached out, your fingers grazing his hand. He flinched—just a little—before finally, finally, he let his fingers curl around yours.

"I’m here," you murmured. "I'm alive. I'm alive all because of you and your overprotectiveness. And I will always be grateful for that."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to commit that to memory. Then, when he looked at you again, some of the tension had drained from his shoulders.

"Don't scare me like that again, please."

--

//this is your reminder that this is tumblr and reblogs are appreciate and welcome//

[cas-dyke]

sometimes i wish cas could’ve seen how dean was doing during times he was “dead”, just so he could know how devastatingly and entirely loved he was. like, if he saw dean being fully suicidal every time cas disappeared, i feel like he would have no choice but to see that he meant everything something

the face of a man who is coping well with the loss of a buddy

[pieandflannel]

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ unworthy

pairing: dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you were heavily neglected as a child and now it shows, but that doesn’t discourage dean from loving you

cw: angst.ᐟ past trauma.ᐟ neglection as a kid.ᐟ low self worth.ᐟ mention of reader having regular suicidal thoughts.ᐟ use of y/n.ᐟ fluff-ish ending.ᐟ

word count: 825

julia yaps: did i cry while writing this? yes. soft!dean has my heart forever!

────────── ❤️‍🩹 ──────────

“hey.. what is it sweetheart?” dean asked with a worried frown on his face. he could tell something was eating you up by the way you would just kinda shut down on everything and everyone, become much quieter and stare into space as your thoughts gnawed at your brain.

but you were too deep in that mental battle of yours to hear his question the first time. “y/n?” he tried to come into your field of vision by tilting his head. his voice soft as your name rolled off his tongue. you flinched slightly as you suddenly snapped out of your personal little hell inside your mind. “hm?” you hummed.

“what’s going on inside that noggin of yours?” dean tired to smile but he couldn’t hide away the worry on his face.

“nothing” you reply almost instantly, but the resignation in your voice was evident.

“don’t give me that crap y/n, come on, talk to me” his tone almost pleading, begging for you to let him in, to not fight it alone whatever you’ve got going on inside your head. he reached for your hands, holding them gently in his.

the reaction he got in return wasn’t one he would have ever expected from you. you looked like it brought you a lot of discomfort, almost like it burned.

“are you hurt?” dean’s mind went straight to the injury scenario, that you probably feel pain due to an accident or something. you shook your head, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. not being able to be okay with your own boyfriend touching you made you feel like an outright savage.

but how could you tell him that touch – real, genuine, affectionate touch, felt like speaking a language you were never taught, like it was a completely foreign concept to you. especially on days like this, where you secretly wished you were dead, just so you could finally know what peace tasted like.

physical affection was a foreign idea that you would love to get acquainted with, an unknown concept that you craved to explore. but it just wasn’t that easy. not with you, not with the upbringing you went through.

you were brought up in a cold environment, an environment where your father wasn’t in the picture so your mother worked days and nights to keep a roof over your heads, leading to you being neglected physically and emotionally. you did not get to live a very long childhood as you had to grow up fast since you had to take care of your younger sibling simply because your mother wasn’t home most the time.

in a not so funny way, you really related to dean. him also being the neglected oldest child with the constant pressure of having to be a protector but never to be protected.. you knew some of his and sam’s upbringing stories. i mean it’s not like you all casually talk about it. dean definitely knew more about your past than sam did, after all he was your boyfriend, but it definitely wasn’t enough to put the pieces together most the time.

dean sighed, he was worried you’re carrying too much alone. he wanted to help, he just didn’t really know how to gain your trust. he lifted your hands up to his face and gave you a gentle kiss on each of your hand. his soft emerald eyes never leaving yours. his lips delicately making contact with your skin.

you tried to push down the tears that were now threatening to run down your pretty face. you felt unworthy of his touch, of his love, his affection. and it ate you up, every single day. the guilt that he has fallen for someone like you.

“help me understand sweetheart” dean’s voice impossibly soft. god he was the sweetest towards you and you wished you felt like you deserved it, but you don’t know how.

a single tear fell down your cheek, your throat feeling like it was barbed-wired. the sight of you struggling to form a sentence broke his heart. “c’mere” he whispered before very slowly pulling you into a hug, as if you were a wild animal that could get easily startled and run away.

as someone that suffers from anger issues, he had the patience of a saint when it came towards you, he knew that your upbringing affected your adult life, just like his past affected him. that’s what made him patient, empathetic.

at first you awkwardly froze into the hug, but eventually you hugged him back the best way you knew. it may have been a light touch but it was more than enough for dean.

because what dean truly believed in was, that any wild animal can be tamed. and that’s what he hoped for with you, that eventually you’ll submit to the idea that you also are worthy of love.

worth more than the neglection you’ve endured all those years.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @pinksatinpanties @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @heartrendercastiel @sunnyteume @mrsanakinwinchesterpoldark @krabog @that-stanford-girlie @pwin098 @tendertulip @honeyyxxbee @rerejunebug @lunaleah @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @idontwannabehere78

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© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

© diver by @cafekitsune <3

[sandgrassbagel]

mid to late seasons of spn out here just EXISTING and some people claiming destiel isn't canon or dean doesn't return cas' feelings is forever CRAZY to me. like lets list some shit that's pretty indicative of dean returning cas' feelings

s7: dean's first widow arc; dean losing the desire/care to try protecting the world; 7x15 paralleling jeffrey's love with that demon to dean's feelings for cas

s8: EVERYTHING in purgatory; dean saying he needs cas; the crypt scene; deans anger over cas not trusting him

s9: dean pleading with cas to look out for himself beginning of season; holding cas' face in his hands after watching him die; telling gadreel yes heal him even if it slows sam's recovery; taking the rit zien case in 9x06 alone so he can see and work with cas; dean trying to convince cas to get back into hunting but backing off when it hits him how vulnerable cas is as a human in which case he wants cas safe; the beginnings of the cain/dean-colette/cas parallels

s10: dean asking cas to kill him if he loses himself again; dean regaining control of himself in the library scene when he's staring down at cas; 10x16's confessional scene; the rest of the cain/dean-colette/cas parallels

s11: clocking something is up with cas the moment he's possessed; trusting cas anyway because its cas; willingly opening up to him about his fear regarding the forced bond with amara; the endless yearning and worry for cas when he's possessed; dean prioritizing cas' safety over strategy; amara using cas' heart to find dean BECAUSE DEAN IS YEARNING SO HARD; the season's emphasis over and over about dean being in love with someone and then pointing at cas

s12: 12x01 hug; fucking LILY SUNDER HAS REGRETS; deans frustration in lily sunder being because cas put himself in unforseeable amounts of danger; incoming widow arc end of season

like supernatural literally said "yea here's this character who says they know dean pretty well and then talks about their depression and suicidal ideation following losing the love of their life which definitely doesn't parallel deans behavior since losing cas. oh yeah and the next season here's dean spending a year in purgatory out of refusal to leave cas behind, saying twice in the same season he needs him, refusing to give up on reaching him even as cas is about to kill him, and hell be angry and hurt when cas loses the angel tablet cuz he didn't trust him. the following season lets show deans care for cas while he's a human thus showing its not about his usage but dw dean has to keep his distance for whatever reason and well also start a parallel regarding a man and THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE between dean and cas haha. then the next season well have the culmination of that parallel being dean regains control of himself because cas loves him unconditionally- WHICH FOR THAT TO WORK WOULD IMPLY THAT DEAN LOVES HIM BACK- and the season after that we'll have an explicit focus on dean's heart and dean being in love. and in s12 to follow the trend we'll have an ep where love is equated to human weakness and destiel are proven to be each other's weakness. and when cas dies at the end of that season, dean will enter a depressive and grief/rage driven spiral so bad it becomes known as "The Widow Arc"

[wvyik]

not alone. d.w. ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

dean winchester x gn! reader

ᰔ summary: after weeks of watching you withdraw, dean’s worst fears come true when he finds you hurting yourself. heartbroken and terrified, he holds you close, vowing to never let you suffer alone again.

⤿ warnings: self-harm!!! suicidal thoughts (implied), depression, emotional distress, descriptions of injuries, hurt/comfort, heavy angst with a comforting resolution, trust and healing, non-linear healing process, implied mental health struggles, affectionate!dean, reader withdrawing emotionally, dean blaming himself, mentions of isolation, light fluff at the end, the notebook slander (how dare anyone??)

⤿ notes: today is almost the first year anniversary since i stopped self harming :3 as much as this hurt to write, it also soothed me sm. mental health struggles are real, and it’s so important to know you’re never truly alone. if you or anyone you know is struggling, please reach out. you are loved, and you matter. based on this c.ai bot..

To say that Dean was concerned about you would be an understatement.

It had been weeks— weeks of watching you slip away from him. Not physically, no, you were still there, but emotionally? It was like you had built a wall so high he couldn’t even see over it.

You still smiled at him, still responded when he spoke to you, but it was like muscle memory, not real. The spark in your eyes had dimmed, and it scared the shit out of him.

Dean had tried everything. Small things at first; making your coffee just the way you liked it, putting on your favorite music while driving, cracking dumb jokes to get you to roll your eyes at him. But you just gave him a soft little smile and said, “Thanks, Dean.” That was it.

He started pushing more after that, pressing his hands against your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart, talk to me.” But you always reassured him in that quiet, almost distant voice, “I’m fine, Dean. I promise.”

But you weren’t.

And now, staring at you in the dim bathroom light, he knew just how bad it had gotten.

There was blood — fresh, trailing down your skin in shaky little lines. Your hand was still trembling, the razor blade clattering to the tiled floor. Your wide, tear-filled eyes shot up to him, panic flooding your face like you had been caught doing something awful.

Dean’s chest clenched so tight it physically hurt.

“Jesus, baby, no—no, no, no.” His voice broke as he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands reaching out but not wanting to startle you. “Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart.”

You hiccuped, tears slipping down your cheeks as you tried to yank your arm away, ashamed. Ashamed. As if you had done something wrong, as if you thought he would be mad at you when all he could think about was how much pain you must’ve been in to do this.

He caught your wrist gently, eyes scanning over the wounds, his heart breaking into a million pieces. They weren’t deep—thank God—but they were still there, still fresh, still proof that you had been suffering alone. And that? That was worse than anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Sweetheart, why—?”

You shook your head, more tears spilling down. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered.

Dean’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Bother him? As if you weren’t the single most important thing in his damn life? As if you weren’t the reason he got up in the morning, the reason he still had any light left in his world?

“Baby,” he exhaled, voice breaking. “You could never be a bother to me. Never.” He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your palm, your wrist—anywhere he could. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve noticed, I should’ve—”

“It’s not your fault,” you murmured, voice still a bit shaky.

“But it’s not yours either,” he said firmly, pulling you into his arms. You melted into him, clinging, fingers curling into his shirt as a sob broke free. Dean held you tighter, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other rubbing your back. “I got you, baby. I got you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He stayed like that for as long as you needed, whispering promises against your hair. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That he would help you through this. That he loved you more than anything.

Because you were his sweetheart. His baby. His whole damn world.

Dean didn’t let go.

Not when you shook against him, sobbing into his chest. Not when your fingers clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And not when you finally went still, breath evening out in little hiccups, like the exhaustion of it all had finally caught up to you.

He just held you, his big, calloused hands running up and down your back, as if he could soothe the hurt away by touch alone.

How did I miss this?

Dean had always been good at reading you— he knew your tells, your moods, the way your face lit up when you were happy, and the way you bit your lip when you were worried. But somehow, somehow, he hadn’t seen how deep the pain had gotten.

That thought gutted him.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, shifting so he could carefully pull you into his lap. He leaned back against the bathroom wall, cradling you close, your face buried against his neck. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I got you.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s chest tightened. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks damp, lips trembling— so damn small in his hands.

“Don’t.” His voice was firm but gentle. “Don’t say sorry. You hear me?”

Your gaze dropped. “I just—I didn’t know how to tell you. And I didn’t want you to think I was—”

Dean caught your chin, tilting your face up. “I think you’re human, sweetheart. That’s what I think.” His thumb brushed away the stray tears still clinging to your lashes. “And I think you’ve been carrying way too much on your own.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding just a little. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Baby, you scared the hell out of me.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t— I can’t lose you, okay? You mean everything to me.”

The words seemed to break something in you, because fresh tears spilled over. Dean didn’t hesitate, he kissed them away, his lips warm and soft against your damp skin.

“Sweetheart, listen to me.” He pulled back, eyes searching yours. “Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours.. you don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m here. Always.”

You let out a weak, teary laugh. “That sounds like something from a rom-com.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up.” But there was the smallest, fondest little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You know I’m right.”

You nodded again, this time leaning into his touch. “Yeah.” Your voice was quiet, but there was a weight in it, like you wanted to believe him.

And that? That was enough.

Dean kissed your forehead, then your temple, his lips lingering. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then we’re gonna talk. And if you don’t feel like talkin’, that’s fine. But you’re not shuttin’ me out anymore, baby.”

You hesitated, but then, slowly, you nodded.

And Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

You’re still here.

He wasn’t gonna let you go through this alone. Not now. Not ever.

It had been a month since that night.

A month since Dean found you in the bathroom, since his entire world nearly shattered in his hands. And in that time, he had done everything in his power to make sure you never felt alone like that again.

He didn’t push. Dean knew better than that. He knew you needed space sometimes, needed to process things on your own. But he made damn sure you always knew he was there.

And it showed.

You were still healing, he knew that. Some days were better than others, but today? Today was a good day.

Dean was lying on the couch in the bunker, one arm behind his head, the other resting on your back as you sprawled across his chest. The Notebook was playing on the TV (your choice, obviously), and he was half-watching, half-tracing circles against your spine.

“You’re actually watching it,” you murmured, tilting your head up at him with a little smile.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah, sweetheart. Just resting my eyes.”

“Dean, I literally just caught you reacting to the sad part.”

He huffed. “Listen, just ‘cause Noah’s a stubborn idiot doesn’t mean I care or nothin’.”

You gave him a knowing look, and he groaned, dropping his head back. “Oh, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” you teased, poking his cheek.

And then you did something that made his whole world stop.

You leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to his jaw. Out of nowhere.

Dean barely had time to react before you settled back down against him, curling up like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. Not for the past month. You hadn’t initiated anything since that night; no kisses, no hand-holding, nothing. He hadn’t minded, of course. He was willing to wait as long as it took. But now?

Now, you were coming back to him.

Dean swallowed thickly, tightening his hold on you just a little. Not enough to startle you, just enough so you’d know.

Know that he felt it, too.

Know that he’d never take it for granted.

Know that he loved you.

And when you looked up at him again, smiling just a little?

Dean knew everything was gonna be okay.

for anyone who might need it, i’ve included a list of mental health hotlines. <3

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[actuallybean]

Holy Virgin* | Part Two

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing Part Three Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Bunker felt warmer on Sundays.

Maybe it was the smell of eggs sizzling in Dean’s old cast-iron pan, the one he swore made them crispier, greasier, “more American.” Maybe it was the way Sam moved slower in the mornings, long limbs draped lazily over the arms of chairs, like his body finally trusted that—for one sacred morning—no one needed saving. Or maybe it was just the way sunlight slipped through the narrow slats of the kitchen window, catching on motes of dust like falling grace. Warm gold on steel and stone. A gentle defiance against how cold the world usually was.

You sat curled at the round table, barefoot, one of Sam’s flannels swallowing you whole, the hem brushing your thighs. You were flipping through a battered old cookbook you found wedged behind some takeout menus in the Bunker’s pantry. The pages smelled like bacon grease and faint mildew, with handwritten notes in the margins—“add more cayenne” or “Dean liked this one”—and cracked eggshells preserved in the spine from some long-ago spill.

“You know,” Dean said, cracking an egg with theatrical precision, “if you two are gonna keep playing house like this, we’re gonna have to get you matching aprons.”

You didn’t even glance up. “Yours would say ‘Kiss the Hunter.’ With a little heart stitched in blood.”

Sam snorted into his coffee.

Dean raised a brow. “Mine would say ‘World’s Greatest Brother,’ thank you very much.”

“You’re just mad she doesn’t cook for you,” Sam said without looking up, nursing his mug like it was the last good thing left in the world.

“She’s never offered,” Dean shot back.

“She’s not your girlfriend.”

Dean turned dramatically, wiping his hands on a dish towel and leaning his hip against the counter. “Not yet.”

You blinked. Sam’s brow twitched.

Dean smirked, eyes glinting. “I’m just saying, man—she already wears your clothes, hogs your coffee, steals your books. How far off are we, really, from a full-on Winchester wedding? You want me to start looking for rings? Or maybe I can officiate it myself—‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in this haunted-ass bunker—’”

“Dean,” Sam cut in, but there was no heat behind it.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, I’m just teasing. Mostly. But let’s not pretend this isn’t the closest thing to domestic bliss any of us are ever gonna get.”

You finally looked up, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You really know how to make a girl feel romantic.”

Dean grinned and pointed his spatula at you. “Don’t I?”

Then, more quietly, more honestly, he added, “I mean it, though. You’re family. You know that, right?”

The humor softened in the space between you, fading like steam off a skillet. The kind of quiet that holds weight.

Your gaze met his, gentler now. “I know.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam and back. “It’s just… this feels good. Normal. And God knows we don’t get a lot of that. So, yeah. I wouldn’t mind a sister-in-law who prays before eating and makes Sam stop brooding.”

“I do not brood,” Sam muttered, deadpan.

Dean ignored him. “Plus, you’re like… the only one who can get him to watch something other than documentaries and sad indie dramas.”

“He cried during Little Women,” you said with a teasing glance toward Sam.

“I did not,” Sam protested, cheeks faintly flushed. “That scene with Beth was—objectively emotional.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling into the fabric of his shirt. “Sure, baby. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Dean cackled from the stove.

You stayed like that for a beat longer, your hand sneaking across the table under the clutter of old napkins and Dean’s half-finished crossword puzzle. Sam’s fingers found yours easily, warm and callused, lacing with familiar confidence.

“You two make me sick,” Dean announced, scooping eggs onto plates. “If I’d known letting her live here would result in public displays of affection, I would’ve stuck to solo missions.”

“Yeah, but then who would’ve kept you from eating expired Hot Pockets and drinking gas station whiskey on an empty stomach?” you shot back.

Dean raised his hands. “Point taken. Now eat this before I decide to throw it at you out of sheer bitterness.”

He set down a plate in front of you with a flourish. Eggs, toast, bacon, and what looked like an attempt at hash browns—crispy on one side, still raw on the other.

You made sure the boys dug in first.

Dean was halfway through cutting his toast when you folded your hands in your lap, lowered your head, and closed your eyes.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty…” you murmured, the prayer so familiar it came like breathing. You always prayed before eating—especially here. Especially with them.

Dean noticed this time. You could feel his eyes on you. Not mocking. Not confused. Just… quietly watching.

When you lifted your head again, Dean hadn’t touched his fork. He was still staring, brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he hadn’t realized he cared about until now.

“What do you feel when you pray?” he asked suddenly, cutting through the comfortable clatter of breakfast.

You blinked, surprised. “Peace,” you said softly, leaning back in your chair. “Mostly peace. Or hope. Sometimes fear. But never alone.”

Dean tilted his head, chewing on the edge of your words. “Fear?” he echoed, voice lower now.

You nodded. “Not of God. Of everything else. Of what’s out there. Of what we fight. There are days where it feels like the world is held together with duct tape and a wish. But when I pray… it feels like it doesn’t all fall on me. Like someone else is carrying it, too. Someone stronger. Someone good.”

Sam’s thumb moved against your hand again, slower this time.

Dean stared at you for a long moment. Then he looked down at his plate. Picked up his fork. “I get that,” he said quietly. “I really do.”

You watched him take a bite and chew slowly, eyes distant. For all his swagger and sarcasm, there were oceans under Dean Winchester’s surface. You’d known that for years. But moments like this? When he let the water show? They were rare. And precious.

Sam turned to you, his voice a whisper meant only for your ears. “He doesn’t say things like that to just anyone.”

You smiled, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Neither do I.”

The three of you ate in a peaceful silence after that. The kind that didn’t need filling. The kind that only came with real love.

✦

The day passed slow. Lazy. Beautiful in the way only rare peace can be.

The Bunker held warmth in its bones that Sunday, humming softly beneath your bare feet as you padded down the hall, drawn by the scent of coffee and the quiet rustle of pages turning. Hours slipped by like melted honey, and none of you rushed them. Sam had pulled you into the couch sometime after breakfast, and neither of you had moved much since. One of his thick theology books lay open across his lap while you leaned against him, your legs tangled lazily with his, your head resting comfortably against the curve of his shoulder. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and paper, and every so often, he’d reach over to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

Dean sat at the war room table, field-stripping one of his favorite guns, the parts arranged in perfect little rows like silver bones. He had a Western playing on low volume, something dusty and dramatic from the seventies that featured more scowls than dialogue. Every time a horse neighed or a revolver clicked, Dean mimicked the sound under his breath, even as his hands moved with methodical grace over oiled metal. You caught him glancing over a few times—at you, at Sam—and though he said nothing, the softness in his expression was louder than words.

Eventually, when the book had grown heavy in Sam’s lap and the Western ended with a poorly executed duel, the three of you agreed on a better option.

“The Princess Bride,” Dean suggested, casual.

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “What? It’s got fencing. Fighting. Revenge. True love. All the essentials.”

Sam grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

And so it played.

You curled tighter against Sam, nestled beneath one of the patchwork quilts Dean had claimed from an old case in Wyoming. Your cheek pressed to Sam’s chest, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his henley, feel the way it slowed in rhythm with his breath as the familiar scenes unfolded. The glow of the television bathed the room in flickering light—Inigo Montoya’s blade flashing silver, Westley’s voice thick with devotion.

“As you wish…”

You smiled into Sam’s shirt, lips barely moving.

Safe. Whole. Loved.

The moment felt suspended in amber—timeless, untouchable.

Until the flicker.

It was small, at first. A brief hiccup in the screen, like the film strip had caught. Then another. Then the lights.

They didn’t go out. Not completely. But they dimmed all at once, shadows lengthening in the corners of the room, the overheads lowering to a deep gold like candlelight. You sat up slowly, eyes scanning the space. Sam’s arm came instinctively around your waist. Dean rose before the sound even finished.

The wings.

That unmistakable rush of air that was neither wind nor sound—but both. Felt more than heard. A hush fell so suddenly over the Bunker that even the old pipes seemed to still.

And then—he was there.

Castiel.

He stood near the archway of the room, his coat rumpled as always, blue tie slightly askew. But his expression was different. Tight. Troubled. His eyes, usually the color of stormy sky, were darker now—clouded with something deeper than worry.

Flanking him were two angels you had never seen before.

They were... beautiful. But not in any way you could call comforting. Their presence carried a weight that made your bones ache, as though gravity itself bowed around them. The one to Castiel’s left had silver hair that shone like polished steel, his face angular, sharp, ageless. The other was bald, his skin smooth and pale as moonlight, but his eyes—his eyes were suns. Too bright. Too much. You looked away instinctively, heart kicking up in your chest.

You tried to stand. Sam rose beside you, his hand lingering on your back.

Castiel’s gaze found you immediately. “We need to speak with you.”

His voice was calm. Low. But there was no mistaking the urgency.

Dean narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “Cas, what the hell’s going on?”

The silver-haired angel took a single step into the room, and though he moved with grace, the air around him seemed to chill. “We have a message.”

Dean’s hand drifted toward his waistband.

“It’s not a threat,” Castiel said quickly, holding up a hand. “But it is… from God.”

Your breath hitched so hard it felt like something fractured inside your lungs.

You stared at him, then at the others. “Me?”

The bald one nodded once. “You have been chosen.”

The words were like cold water dumped over your spine.

“I—I don’t understand.”

“We don’t either,” Castiel admitted. “The message was delivered by the new Scribe of Heaven. It bore the highest seal. And it spoke your name.”

You shook your head. “There’s a mistake. I’m no one.”

“You are known,” said the silver-haired angel. “You are named. You are prepared.”

Sam stepped in front of you without hesitation, towering between you and them. “What does that mean?”

The silver-haired angel extended a hand, palm upward. “If she allows, we will show her.”

Dean moved now, standing to Sam’s right, voice cold. “She’s not doing anything unless she agrees. And if this is some kind of possession—”

“It isn’t,” Castiel said firmly, cutting across the tension. “No control. No invasion. It’s… more like revelation. A divine vision.”

You stared at Castiel. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” he said. Then softer, “But it will change everything.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

You turned to Sam.

He looked at you like you were a world he didn’t want to lose. His eyes locked on yours, hands gently finding your arms. He didn’t say no. He wouldn’t hold you back. But his jaw was tight, and he looked like he was already grieving.

Then, finally, he nodded.

You turned back to the angels. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

The bald angel moved forward. Slowly. Carefully. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers to your forehead.

And the world disappeared.

No sound. No breath. No body.

Only white.

Endless, echoing white—so bright it was neither color nor light, just... presence. A silence that pulsed. A stillness so pure it hurt.

And then—

A voice.

Not in your ears. In you. Through you.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t boom. But it was. Vast. Timeless. Made of wind and thunder and lullabies and galaxies folding in on themselves.

My daughter. You have been chosen. You will carry My son. As Mary once did, so shall you. This is My will.

Your soul quaked.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry out that you were not worthy, not ready, not enough.

But there was no mouth. No voice. No flesh. Only your essence—and it bent beneath the weight of His decree.

You didn’t understand.

You didn’t want this.

You hadn’t chosen this.

And then—

The Bunker.

The world rushed back all at once, color and sound crashing into your senses.

You were falling.

Arms caught you. Strong. Familiar. Sam.

Your body trembled violently, your knees unable to bear your weight. Dean grabbed your legs, lowering you gently to the floor, while Castiel caught the back of your head with both hands, keeping you steady.

You were shaking so hard you could barely breathe.

Sam’s voice was frantic. Desperate.

“Hey—hey, look at me. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Talk to me.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, fists curled in the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his chest.

When your voice finally came, it cracked in half.

“Sam…” Your lip trembled. Your eyes burned. “I didn’t choose this…”

He pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest like something fragile. Like something sacred.

And in the silence that followed, no one spoke.

Because what could they say?

God had spoken.

And everything was about to change.

[gublernatural]

In Another Life 𖥔 Dean Winchester

✶ SUMMARY: It's hard to regret getting captured by a Djinn when it makes your wishes come true in the real world, too.

✶ WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut (piv), slow burn, mutual pining, she's long as fuck (6.8k words), heated make out, fingering, allusion to suicide (to end the djinn), reader is injured, supernatural-esque violence, alcohol, jess is mentioned, reader is bad at pool and likes baseball, mention of a period in passing, showering together MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

✶ NOTE: I'M BACK BABY!!! dividers from @firefly-graphics!!

˚꒰ა .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ ࣪˖ 𓂃 ࣪˖ 𖥔. ໒꒱˚

Everything looked familiar. The dingy yellow paint on the motel room wall was what you thought was the last thing you'd seen before you closed your eyes. The room still smelled like nicotine and there was still a squeaky noise coming from where the gasket on the window was damaged. Things seemed normal. There was nothing that you could tell was out of place from where you’d awoken.

Except, something felt different.

There was an unfamiliar warmth. It was coming from your left side, but it was also coming from inside your chest. Something inside you felt lighter; less like the weight of the world was no longer on top of you. You raised your head slightly, just to look over to see what was pressed against your side. You tried to move with a practiced ease, as if you were trying not to alert a monster creeping in the night.

Except, it wasn’t night and there was no monster. It was just Dean. Laying beside you, fast asleep.

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” You gasped, scrambling as far away from him as you could get in the queen-sized bed. Dean was easily awoken by your outburst. He moved gently, bringing his hands up to rub his face, before turning to you. “What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes filled with nothing but concern. Your brows furrowed, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It was definitely Dean. Definitely your Dean. But something about his was different. He was relaxed? Calm? Peaceful? You weren’t entirely sure what the correct word was.

When you didn’t answer him, Dean moved closer to you, trapping you between his body and the wall. One of his hands moved to your face, cradling your cheek. “What happened?” He asked, again. “Nothing,” You informed, turning into putty in his hands. Dean used this hand to pull you closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Guess we should hit the road, since you’re up,” Dean said. He sighed like an old man when he moved to push himself off the bed. “Sammy’s gone, wanna shower?” Definitely my Dean, you thought when you saw the shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I’m good,” You shrugged. When his own face twisted up in confusion, you quickly came up with a lie, “Time of the month, and all that.” Dean nodded, heading towards the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, your hunter instincts took over. You moved with a desperate urgency, pulling out every dresser drawer, stifling through every item inside of them, checking under sheets and mattresses, checking the search history on the laptop on the table, flipping through each and every book.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sam’s voice broke your focus. You quickly snapped around, immediately pausing your movements. “Looking for something?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows at you. You were sure you looked guilty, with your hands tucked behind your back and your incredibly straight posture. “N-no,” You stuttered, trying to relax. You slowly made your way back to the bed, relaxing into it as much as possible. Sam’s questioning eyes followed you the entire time.

“What are we doing here?” You asked Sam. You remembered why you were in this town. Sam had seen disappearing girls in the local paper, something suspicious about them. You were here to kick the monster’s ass. That much you knew for sure. Sam let out a chuckle, “We’ve been on a road trip for a few weeks now.” Sam informed, pointing to the map on the table, “You don’t remember?” His voice shifted into a calmer tone, full of concern.

“No, no, I do. I was just making sure,” You tried to play it off. Luckily, Sam did not have too much time to question you, as the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged.

“Next stop, the world’s largest basket in Frazeysburg, Ohio!” Dean cheered, coming to stand next to you, and resting his hand on the base of your neck. “Definitely not the world’s largest,” Sam corrected. Dean mumbled an “oh, whatever,” before moving to throw his things in his duffel bag. His duffel bag that was usually filled with guns, knives, salt. The essentials.

“We’re going to pick up Jess,” Sam clarified, circling back to your confusion, “her graduation is in a week, and then we’re moving closer to you and Dean.”

You knew this was an attempt to clear things up for you, but it just furthered your confusion. Jess was dead. Jess was dead before you met the Winchesters. What the fuck was going on?

You turned your head back to Dean, watching him start to add your things into his duffel bag. “Hey,” you chastised, pulling a pair of slightly racy underwear from his hand, “those are mine.” Dean turned to look at you, a smirk spread across his face, “What’s yours is mine, sweetheart.” He turned back to the bag, just for a second, before throwing you a quick wink, “Plus, it’s not like I haven’t seen them before.”

You weren’t sure if you were more shocked when Dean asked if you wanted to drive, or when Sam willingly slid into the back seat. Dean’s hand was resting on your knee, his thumb rubbing sweet circles into the denim of your jeans. There was a soft rock song playing on the radio, and Dean was lightly singing along to it. The air outside was fresh, the sun was shining, and there was a slight breeze flowing through baby’s open windows. Even Sam wasn’t complaining about how loud the music was.

Everything was truly perfect. Too perfect.

As much as you wanted to lean into Dean’s touch, to allow him to hold you each night like had last night, to let him press kiss sweet kisses against your forehead and throw dirty jokes at you, you knew that you couldn’t. You knew something was wrong. Life as a hunter never worked out like that for you. If something felt right, you knew that there was something wrong.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t going to figure out what it was.

Maybe you’d let yourself enjoy Dean’s attention while you did it. Maybe.

Baby let out a soft hum as you approached the basket. It was very large, you couldn’t deny that. Dean came around to the passenger side, sliding his hand into yours. There was what should’ve been a comfortable silence that had fallen over the three of you, but something in your stomach wasn’t letting you relax. Hunter’s instinct, as you used to tell the boys. You wished you could talk to them. The real them. Not whatever these imposters were.

“You alright?” Dean asked, moving his hand to your waist. “What are we, Dean?” You asked. He stopped his steps, letting Sam trail ahead. “You’re my girlfriend.” Girlfriend. Your eyes widened before your face, once again, twisted up in confusion. “You’re my girlfriend,” Dean repeated, matching your facial expression, “You’ve been my girlfriend for about four years now. Are you okay?” He questioned, again. His hand moved up to rest against your forehead, checking for a temperature.

You pushed his hand away, trying to think this through. Four years. That has to be significant. What were you doing four years ago?

Hunting. You’d been hunting your whole life, so of course you were hunting. You tried to think of any notable hunts that occurred four years ago. It was hard to put them chronologically. They all got blurred together after a while, and you could only really see the faces of the people you’d saved, the families you’d brought back together.

Then it clicked. Four years ago, you were hunting the largest vampire nest you’d ever seen. It was located on the border of Minneapolis and Saint Paul, taking victims from both cities. You knew you were in over your head when you went in, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.

Especially when you ended up having the best backup you’d ever gotten while on a case. Not only were they two very efficient hunters, but they were also particularly easy on the eyes. You should’ve probably hesitated before letting the shorter one with a pretty smile into your motel room to see what you’d pieced together, but something in your gut told you to trust him. So you did, and you still do.

“Dean,” You sighed out, “how did we meet?” His signature smile spread across his face as he stepped closer to you, swinging a careful arm around your neck. “Need a reminder of why you fell in love with me, sweetheart?” You nodded, encouraging him to get on with it. “At some bar, just between the Twin Cities. You had some girlie drink in your hand and were dressed up all pretty, but cussing like a sailor at a baseball game on TV. Drew me right in. It didn’t take very long for you to like me back. Sam was upset we were holding up his tour of the city with Jess, but he got over it once he realized I really liked ya” Dean reminisced.

Fuck, you thought. You had always wished you met Sam and Dean differently. You’d wished you met in a bar and Dean chatted you up. That Sam took you in like a little sister. But, that’s not how it went. You knew that. In your reality, life was shitty and Dean usually slept on the shitty motel couch, not next to you, even if he wished he could. So, you also knew you had to fix it. You had to get home.

You excused yourself from the boys and the very large basket to head back to the car. You rummaged through it, hoping to find something from your reality. A knife, a gun, something you could use to end this perfect nightmare. You found a small little switchblade in the trunk. It was not going to be easy, and it was going to hurt like a bitch, but you needed to get home. You needed to be with your real Dean so you could help him kill this Djinn.

Your wrists fucking burned. It was like your whole body was tense, but your wrists were on fire. “You got her?” You heard a deep voice call towards you. There was no response but you felt your body jostle. You were pressed against something warm. Not the kind of unsettling warmth you felt when you woke up in the dingy motel room. The kind of warmth that smelled slightly of whiskey and home. The kind of warmth that only came from Dean. Your Dean. Your real Dean.

“Dean?” You mumbled softly. You felt his grip on your body get tighter, holding you closer. “I got you, sweetheart. Just hold on for me.” You tried to nod, but weren’t sure if your head actually moved.

The next time you woke up, you were once again met with the dingy, yellow motel wallpaper. Only this time, you didn’t scramble to get away from the presence next to you. In fact, you shifted your body slightly closer to it.

You curled into a fetal position next to where Dean was sitting on the side of the bed. Your head shifted so you could look at him. His eyes were wide as he turned around with a breathy release of your name, “fuck,” he mumbled once he saw how frail you looked. He didn’t say anything else. He just reached out to rest his hand on your side. It didn’t take long for him to start rubbing it along the expanse of your torso, trying to push away any pain you were feeling. There weren’t many cuts or bruises that littered your skin, but he knew how weak Djinns can make you feel.

“Can I do anything for you?” He prompted, breaking the silence after a few minutes. You shook your head no, just wanting to go back to sleep. “Sammy went to get food,” he informed, “asked him to stop and get you your favorite.” You didn’t have to say anything for Dean to understand that you weren’t going to eat it. The gesture was nice, though.

The sun was casting through the broken blinds the next time you woke up. You were surprised that you had managed to sleep through most of the night. Your body really did need to rest, you guessed.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked once he realized you were awake. You moved to sit crisscross on the end of the bed, so that you would be facing where he was sitting at the motel table. “Better than yesterday, but my head still hurts.” He didn’t respond, just nodded and turned back to whatever he was reading on his laptop. It took you a while, but eventually, you mustered up the courage to stand up and head to the shower. Dean was still asleep on the other motel bed. His hands were stuffed under his pillow, protectively placed near some kind of weapon, and his breaths were even and relaxed. You smiled at him as you grabbed clothes and headed into the bathroom.

The hot water felt heavenly cascading down your body. You deflated like a balloon, each muscle relaxing from the top down. Your shoulders, then your back, then your thighs, then your calves. You were probably in the shower for a good 45 minutes to an hour, allowing your body to release any leftover adrenaline. It was the most relaxed you’d been in a long time.

It wasn’t until about the thirty-minute mark that you started reflecting on what you had been through. You still weren’t sure how Sam and Dean had found you, but you were grateful they did. Fortunately, being unconscious allowed your body to heal up quickly. Unfortunately, living the life you’d been dreaming of had fucked you up emotionally. You tried not to allow yourself to think about it. It would be easier to bury all of the undiscussed emotions , unasked questions, and unreciprocated feelings into a deep pit with all of the other fucked up stuff that was easier to put off than it was to walk out and face it. You didn’t want to think about holding Dean’s hand as you walked to unusual landmarks or him pressing his lips against your forehead after he thought you’d had a nightmare. It would never be your reality, so there was no sense in dwelling on what could’ve been.

There were a few knocks on the door, “You alright in there? There’s no way there’s still hot water coming out.” Dean’s voiced was muffled by the door. “Coming!” You called back to him, suddenly realizing how long it’d been. The water still felt fine, though.

You hurriedly stepped out, dried yourself off, and threw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You’d get dressed for the day once you were in the main room, as the steam in the bathroom makes the clothes stick to you.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked as you emerged from the bathroom. You missed the way his eyes sparkled once he finally got a look you standing up and healthy. “Like I wish people would stop asking me that,” You complained. After a beat of silenced passed, you added, “And hungry.” Dean let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Sam ran to the diner down the road real fast.” You nodded, reaching to pull out your laptop. You had to stay busy, it kept your mind off of things you didn’t want to be thinking about.

“Slow down, road runner,” Dean encouraged, moving to sit next to you. You shrugged at him. He continued to chastise you, “You need to heal up, we can take a day or two off.” If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t be telling you this. He and Sam never slowed down. They hunted, they got injured, they went on another hunt, and they got injured again. “I’m not a child, Dean. I’m not even hurt, I can hunt.” Dean didn’t respond, instead, he pressed his hand against the back of your laptop, pushing it shut.

“I know what it’s like,” He practically cooed. You tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at his gentle voice. “Your wish had come true, and then it was ripped away from you. That’s not something you heal from overnight.” You didn’t realize you’d been avoiding eye contact with him until this moment. His face had a foreign softness too it, one you didn’t see him use on anyone else. “I’m fine, Dean.” You huffed. If that was true was still out for debate.

“Tell me about it.” He pushed. When you continued to stare at him, but didn’t answer, he questioned you further. “What was your wish? What was different?” This was when you broke eye contact. Your face began to feel warm, and you looked down into your lap. Dean didn’t push. He could be an asshole, but he was an asshole that cared about you. You two sat in silence for a while, as you considered how much to reveal to him. You knew he wouldn’t let it go. Maybe he’d leave it alone for a day or so, but this conversation was inevitable. “Things were just,” you hesitated for a second, “different.” Dean nodded, subtly encouraging you to continue. “We didn’t live this,” you gestured to the room around you, “kind of life. I mean we did, we stayed in motels with each other and all, but we didn’t have to deal with everything else. We weren’t hunters.” You explained.

“That’s your wish? To stop hunting?” Dean asked with a conviction that had you convinced that if you said yes, you’d never have to go on a hunt again, and he would make sure of it. However, you shook your head, “It’s not even about hunting, I don’t think. We were on some stupid roadtrip. To see Jess. She was graduating from college.” Dean hummed at your explanation. “So your wish was to be on a roadtrip with us? Or for Jess to still be alive?” Dean questioned again, almost in awe of how selfless he thought you were. But, you shook your head again. “I wish that we were able to meet differently.”

“Differently?” Dean repeated. “Yeah,” you shrugged your shoulders, “like, normal people, I guess. In a bar or at some sporting event. Something stupid, that regular people get to experience.” Dean was quiet, contemplating what you said. He would’ve never guessed that your wish was something so simple. Your wish was so mundane, so un-earth shattering, that it was hard for him to wrap his head around it. You knew his wish, wanting his mother to still be alive. That was worth wishing for. A different kind of life with him and his brother was not. If Dean could make your wish for you, it would probably be the exact opposite. He’d wish that you never met him and never had to deal with all of the world-saving bullshit being with the Winchesters came with. Hell, even if you were still hunting, you’d at least be safe from the archangels and the king of Hell and Lillith and all of the other crap he had to deal with. You could hunt normal things, like vampires and werewolves and wendigos and maybe the occasional witch or demon.

“And if we met like normal people, what would that mean?” Dean was trying to understand the fantasy you got to live in, even if it was only for a brief moment. “I don’t know. We were on some stupid road trip and seeing the World’s Largest Basket. Sam and Jess were moving in together to live close to us.” We held hands and you kissed me on the forehead and called me your girlfriend. Dean nodded, seeing how a simple life like that could be enjoyable. “Close to us?” He questioned, picking up on the fact you two at least lived close, if not together, in your fantasy. You nodded, shrugging your shoulders.

“Food’s here!” Sam called as the door to your motel room opened. You smiled, standing up to meet him at the table. Dean hesitated, not moving from his spot on the bed for a brief second. If he could live in his fantasy world, he thinks he’d like to live with you, too.

The next hunt found you and the boys in the middle of Alabama, searching for a vengeful spirit preying on men who broke their wives heart. The night you were able to gank them, Dean had suggested “celebratory spirits, in honor of the spirit we’d put to rest”. Who were you to argue with that?

So, you three found yourselves in a local dive bar. You were nestled into a corner booth, right by the pool tables, where Sam and Dean were playing two older locals. You were pretty sure Sam was hustling the poor old man, but Dean seemed to be playing for fun. You couldn’t help but notice how handsome Dean truly was when he allowed himself to relax for a moment. He had his two favorite people in the world with him and a cold beer in his hand. He was content.

“Wanna play?” Dean asked as he chalked his pool stick. “Me?” You asked, shocked that he would extend that offer. You’d never been good at pool, which Dean was definitely aware of. There was no shot he wanted you to play, especially if there was any money involved. “Yeah, I can finally teach you the skills so you can start your own hustle,” Dean explained, gesturing to Sam and confirming your suspicions. “If you want me to,” You stated, then downed the rest of your drink, before moving to grab the other pool stick. “You wanna break?” Dean asked as he set the game up.

Dean showed you different tricks and spent a lot of time showing you how to get the right angles and power on your hits. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed together when he pressed his chest against your back, lowered his head to be next to your ear, and wrapped his hands around yours on the pool stick. He was a very effective teacher.

By the time Dean had finally hit in the 8-ball in, Sam had wandered away. You spotted him talking to a pretty red-head by the bar. There was no surprise when he slid his hand around her waist, guiding her out of the bar. You received a text to both you and Dean that read “not coming back to the motel tonight” a few minutes after. You knew Dean had read it when he whispered, “my man!” and slid his phone back into his pocket. “You doing the same?” You asked Dean once you both settled into the booth, seeing the way he was looking around the bar, eyeing up the patrons. He shook his head, “Nah, thinking about calling it a night.” He brought his beer bottle to his lips and took the final swig of it. “It’s only 11 o’clock,” you informed him, surprised that he was choosing to go back to the motel. “I’m not cutting you off, princess,” he teased, “I’m just ready to chill.” He emphasized his statement by dragging out the world “chill” and sliding his hands through the air.

Dean knew if he went back to the motel, you would, too. You were never one to stay out and party, especially if he or Sam wasn’t around. It was both a safety kind of thing, and a not having as much fun without them kind of thing.

Dean held the door for you as you walked out of the bar. It had cooled off, into a nice, summer night. Dean surprised you by opening the door to the impala, and closing it for you after you’d settled into your seat. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you teased when he climbed in. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it, sweetheart.”

The ride back was filled with nothing but comfortable silence and a Rolling Stones cassette playing through the radio. You and Dean settled into the room, each taking a bed, assuming Sam would not be coming back at all tonight. Dean usually took the couch during hunts, as Sam was too tall for them, and he would never subject you to the muscle pain that comes with sleeping on broken springs.

You were totally absorbed into the soap opera you’d chosen from the shitty motel channels when Dean finally spoke. “I got one question for you,” he started, shifting his body from being angled at the TV to facing you. His long, jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of where he was sitting against the headboard. You were laying on your side, head resting on your arm and angled down toward the TV. You shifted your gaze to him, “shoot.”

“In your Djinn dream last week, why was Sam moving closer to us?” You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. Your silence was making Dean uneasy, so he rushed to fill it, “I mean we were far from them, yes?” You let out a hum of agreement. “So, why did both of us live so far away from them that they had to move?” You got the feeling that Dean was piecing this together as he said it out-loud. “We lived together?” He asked, giving you his full attention now. Your voice was quiet when you answered, “I guess.”

Dean moved from his position, opting to sit on the edge of the bed closest to you. “What else happened?” You locked eyes from him from where you were laying, noticing a shift in the way he talked. There was more edge to his voice. “What?” you asked, shifting your position as well, sitting on the edge of your bed, directly across from him. “I know that we met in a different situation and that we were on some road trip, but what else happened? Why did we live together?” If your face was warm when he asked about how you’d met, then your face was on fire now. You hoped he couldn't sense how flustered you were getting.

“Hey,” he leaned forward, reaching an arm across to rest on your thigh, “no need to get shy on me, now. We all have our things,” He assured, assuming it was something embarrassing you were worried about. It was definitely embarrassing, but not in the way that you look back at the situation in five years and laugh, but in the way that your life may be forever changed once you’ve said it out loud. Your life may be forever changed for the worst, if you have to listen to him say that that was a crazy Djinn dream and something like that would never happen between you two.

Dean’s eyes remained on you, with an expectant look on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly shut it, trying to find a way to explain what happened without him realizing that you were totally, deeply, grossly in love with him.

“Come ‘ere,” He mumbled, moving to sit next to you, instead of across from you. The energy in the room continued to get tenser, as he got closer, invading your personal space. For the second time that night, his face was next to yours and his lips were moving by your ear. “We were close in your fantasy?” He asked, voice low and husky. You nodded, afraid that your voice would give too much away. “Closer than we are right now?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking on an emotional level, or a proximal one. Sure, the answer to both questions was yes, but you didn’t want to tell him that. He was your boyfriend, and, at multiple points in your fantasy world, you two were touching. It was in rather innocent ways, but you were touching nonetheless. You let out a sigh, before nodding again. Due to him being so close, you couldn’t see the smirk that spread across Dean’s face at your confession.

“What? We were married? Lived together in some rancher in the middle of New Mexico?” He switched back to his teasing mode. “You were my boyfriend,” you corrected, without realizing what you were confessing to. Dean’s eyes widened briefly, “So, let me get this right,” he backed away from you, just a little bit. You were still disappointed to lose the warmth his body heat was providing. “In your fantasy world, a world where you could’ve wished for anything you wanted, I was your boyfriend?” Fuck your face being on fire, it was melting into the deepest pit of Hell, where there was nothing but torches and conflagrations. “Yes, Dean,” you huffed, completely moving yourself away from him and closer to your headboard, “Now stop being mean about it and go back to your stupid soap opera.”

Dean let out a gentle ‘tsk’, moving his body closer to yours, as if he was chasing the feeling you were giving him. “Sweetheart, I’m not being mean. I’m just making sure you want this as much as I do.” With that, Dean’s lips were on yours. He swallowed the gasp you let out before you relaxed into his touch. Your hands moved into the short length of his hair, holding him as close as physically possible. “Fuck,” Dean breathed as he pulled away from you. His hands move to rub along the top of your thighs. “You okay?”

You nodded, eagerly. He let out a low chuckle, before diving back into pressing his lip against yours. Dean’s body guided your own, getting you to lay down so that he could hover over you. He supported his weight with his right hand, allowing his left to slide down your side. His lips were making you dizzy as he kissed down the side of your neck. When he reached a particularly sensitive spot, you let out a gentle moan. Dean stopped for just a second to bask in the sound, before returning to the spot with a deep suck. His tongue slid over the skin to soothe the burn once he felt you were sufficiently marked to his liking.

Dean continued this pattern, searching your body for spots that made moans fall from your lips and your body writhe against his. He was painfully hard from enjoying the friction your thigh was creating him for him, but he was enjoying your reactions too much to stop. Dean was always one to enjoy the delicious things in life.

So, it was no surprise that he kissed down your body, helping you remove every article of clothing that got in his way, before he settled himself between your legs.

He started by rubbing his calloused hands along the inside of your thighs. He followed each slide of his each with a kiss, easing the burn from his rough hands on such a sensitive area. You were sure he could see the wet spot that formed on your panties, which were the last piece of clothing you were wearing. It was hard to ignore how he was still fully clothed when you were so bare. “Dean,” you whined with a harder tug of his hair. He let out a ‘hm’, as he left another mark on the inside of your left thigh. One only he would be able to see.

Your hands slid down from their place in his hair to pull on his collar, signaling to him that you wanted it off. “Want something, sweetheart?” He asked. If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve kicked that stupid grin off of his face. You shifted your gaze down to where he was waiting for you to say something. The sight of him between your legs was heavenly, and if you wanted him earlier, you needed him now. You pulled on his shirt again, with a breathy, drawn out, “Dean.” He chuckled again, before pushing himself onto his knees to pull off his shirt. He did not give you the kindness off removing anything else.

He did finally, finally, touch your soaked panties. Dean’s fingers were gentle as he slid them through your clothed slit. “God, baby,” He almost sounded as whiny as you did, “I did this all to you?” Dean’s cocked twitched in his jeans when answered with a sickly sweet, “Yes, De.”

“Guess I’ll have to do something to clean it up for ya, huh?” You didn’t have the chance to answer before he moved his fingers to circle around your clit, drawing a deep moan out of you. Your legs were starting to feel like jello as you began to go dumb from your arousal. All your mind, body, and soul could focus on at the moment was Dean Winchester. Your Dean Winchester. Your real Dean Winchester.

Dean stayed there for a while, sitting between your legs, tracing painfully slow circles on your clit. He ignored all of your attempts to get him to do something more. It was as if he didn’t hear your moans and whines, or feel the way your hands were reaching for his wrist to get him to stop, or do more, you weren’t exactly sure. He was driving you crazy, giving you enough to keep your mind focused on him, but not enough to push you any closer to the mind shattering orgasm you were chasing. You knew he could give it to, why was he being so mean?

After what could’ve been either a few minutes or a few hours, your brain was too mushy to know the difference, Dean decided to show a little mercy on you. “You’re so pretty,” he complimented, adjusting his position so he could pull your underwear down your legs. He pressed a sweet kiss above your knee as he pulled the drenched fabric over them. “I’m really enjoying this,” he informed you, as if you couldn’t tell from the tent in his pants and the way he was dragging this out. He flicked his gaze to you, waiting for a response. “Me too, Dean,” you assured him.

You saw the shade of pink on his cheeks slightly darken. He looked so good, so pretty, like this. There were beads of sweat along his forehead, his pupils were blown, and his cheeks, his fucking cheeks, were the most beautiful shade of pink you’d ever seen. You wanted nothing more than to take a picture, capture this moment, and have it to look back on whenever you wanted.

“I’m gonna make you feel good now, yeah?” He said as his fingers started to move again, finally giving the pressure you’d been craving.

Wanton moans fell from your lips as he inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt. “Oh,” you gasped, pleasantly full from his fingers. His rhythm was perfect as he tried out a few different angles before he found the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars. It only took a few strokes from him to pull your orgasm from you. Dean knew you were cumming before you moaned, “Cumming, Dean, I’m cumming,” from the way your muscles spasmed around his fingers. God, he couldn’t wait to feel you cum on his cock.

Dean worked you through your orgasm, not stopping his movements until you were breathing heavily and holding his wrist in place by pressing your thighs together. “Doing okay?” He checked in after you let him go. You didn’t have the capacity to form words, or even coherent thoughts yet, so you simply nodded.

Dean stayed in his spot between your legs, massaging the fat of your thighs and rubbing his hands along your shins. You truly had never felt more relaxed than you were currently feeling in this moment. Everything, for once, was perfect, and there was no need for a monster to kidnap you and place you in a fantasy world while he feeds on you to feel like this. All you needed was Dean. All you’ve ever needed was Dean. All you will ever need is Dean.

“Hey, Dean,” you mumbled into the comfortable silence. He didn’t reply, but raised his eyebrows at you. You shot him a sweet smile, not feeling the need to explain what you were thinking. He matched it, sending you a gorgeous grin.

You gave yourself just a few more moments to recover before beckoning him to come closer. He quickly obliged, pressing his lips to yours again. There was no rush this time. You both knew you had all of the time in the world to enjoy each other from here on out.

You slid your hands down Dean’s chest, surprised at how soft his skin was. Your hands tugged on the button of his jeans, undoing them for him. There were no words spoken between you two as you helped him out of the remainder of his clothes. He reassumed his spot hovering above you, pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and then gently slid himself into you. You let out matching moans as he bottomed out, filling you up perfectly. Dean waited to move, allowing himself to bask in your warmth for a little bit.

His first few thrusts were gentle. They matched his demeanor as he reached up above where your head laid on the pillow to hold your hand. Dean held eye contact as he began to pick up his pace. He knew he wouldn’t last long. Not when he’d been dreaming of this moment for so long.

“Feels good, Dean,” you babbled, exhausted and content. He responded with a low groan, burying his head into the crook of your neck. His right hand moved to your thigh, hiking it up around his waist as he began to pick up his pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he hit a spot deep in your cervix, “fuck, baby.” He repeated. If you were cock-dumb, he was definitely pussy-drunk. Dean was lost in the feeling of you. His grip on your hand tighten as he started to pound into you. The hand that wasn’t interlocked with his moved to his back, leaving scratches that would burn the next time he took a shower.

“So fucking good,” Dean mumbled in your ear. His hips started to jerk as pressure began to build up in his abdomen. There was a fire growing in his lower stomach that would erupt into a brain numbing orgasm. He didn’t think twice as he painted the inside of your walls white, filling you to the brim with his seed.

Dean didn’t stop, he was riding out his own high, just as he had done for you and yours.

“God, baby,” he sighed out once he was done, collapsing on top of you. You welcomed the weight, finding comfort in his body. “Why did we wait so long to do that?” Dean mumbled in your ear. You giggled in response, totally enamored with this new side of him.

You tried to ignore how empty you felt when Dean finally pulled himself out of you. There was a conversation that needed to be had now, but you weren’t sure how to start it. The tension in the room could be felt again, but it was different. It was uncomfortable as you both tried to navigate whatever this was now.

Dean stood from the bed, grabbing two towels off of where they were thrown over the chair, “C’mon, let’s shower and get’cha cleaned up.” You nodded, following in his footsteps.

Dean turned on the water and stepped into the shower as you peed. Once you were done, you joined him. Despite all of things you two had done, this was the most vulnerable you’d felt all night.

“We gotta talk about it, ya know,” Dean started as he turned away from you to get soap on a rag. He rubbed it between his hands to suds it up before bringing it to your shoulder. He washed the tension away from your neck, gently traced the rag over your breasts, massaged the soap into your thighs, and got you clean. He was so gentle, so relaxed.

“I know,” you sighed, scared for what would come out of it. “So you’d want me to? To, uh, be your boyfriend or whatever?” He asked as he stood to his full height after washing your calves. “I mean, yeah, if you’d want to be.” You shrugged, trying not to let him see how hard your heart was beating in your chest.

His eyes lingered on yours as a few beats of silence passed between you two.

“Hey,” he murmured as he called your name, “Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

You let out a giggle at his chivalry, eagerly nodding. Dean’s smile matched yours as he pulled you into his chest. He held you tightly, squeezing you into him. You were pretty sure that this shower was nothing but a waste of water, as you two would find yourselves wrapped in each other between the sheets, again, before the night was over.

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

⛤⋅•⋅∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[crydart]

The Empty Heart - Art Masterpost

STORY AVAILABLE ON AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63709144

Dean is not okay and doesn’t try to hide it anymore. He wants to bring Cas back and won’t let anything stop him. He’s willing to threaten, to hurt others or himself. He pushes away the people who care about him, convinced his toxic presence will ruin their new, free lives. But they refuse to let him go.

Meanwhile, Castiel is awake in the Empty. Something is keeping him from rest. The last remnants of his angelic grace reach for the only piece of him left on Earth — a piece that is broken, shattered, but still longing for him.

This is a story of second chances, fighting your demons, and finally allowing yourself to be free. The brothers set out on one last hunt, ready to claim the life they never thought possible.

The story is completed and has a happy ending. New chapters are posted each weekend.

#Post-Canon #Fix-It #Happy Ending #Angst with a Happy Ending #Fluff #Touch-Starved #Found Family #Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural) #Alternate Ending #Everyone Is Alive #The Last Hunt #Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond #Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss #Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Wincheste #rDean Winchester Has Anger Issues #Canon-Typical Violence #Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism #Suicidal Thoughts #Anxiety Attacks #Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD #Healing #Panic Attacks #Additional Warnings In Author's Note #Sexual Tension #fuck the finale #Emotions #Protective Sam Winchester #Human Castiel (Supernatural) #Dean Winchester Loves Castiel #Slow Burn #Sharing a Bed

[witchy-worm]

It's posting day for my first @deancashorrorfest collab! This year was a reverse bang, @shineforthee claimed my art piece and wrote a truly incredible fic for it. Please go check it out here: Link to Fic

I wanted to do something a bit different with this one, so I started off by drawing Cas, Dean, and the basic background in Illustrator. Then I imported it into photoshop and painted in most of the details.

Special thanks to our @deancashorrorfest mod for running such a smooth and fun event! This was my first time doing horrorfest but I'll definitely be back for more.

Banner and fic info behind the cut

Author: @shineforthee | Artist: @witchy-worm

Rating: Mature

Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Grief & Loss, Ambiguous Ending, Derealization, Apocalypse, Suicidal Ideation

Summary: Dean has always known it was ending. The world, that is. He knew it when he was three, awake and screaming in the middle of the night with the image of fire leaving an afterburn behind his eyelids. He knew it while he learned to ride a bike, while he went to his first school dance, had his first kiss, tipped back his first beer with his dad. He knew it when dad left, too. When Sammy died. When it all began to crumble.

He has always known it was ending. Now he's alone in a cabin somewhere so far north and so far west that he thinks half the continent never knew it existed in the first place, and he's got the same damn nightmares, the same burn behind his eyes, and the sense that ending is a verb that goes on and on into eternity and outside of time.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

H3X3S&H3ARTB3ATS

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Chaos Witch! Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of child abuse and neglect, suicidal thoughts, needles, mentions of pornography, kidnapping, mentions of death, mentions of blood and gore, mental illness, mentions of PTSD, corpses, gaslighting, guns, knives, slurs, weapns, alcohol use, violence, smut, angst, blurring of realities, heartbreak, loss of close persons, ritual uses, religious controversies.

୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ

SUMMARY: In a world where celestial beings roam untamed, their presence woven into the fabric of fate, one more should hardly make a difference. And yet, wherever Sam Winchester went, the supernatural followed—drawn to him like moths to a flame, relentless and inescapable. But for all the forces that gravitated toward him, the real question lingered in the air like an unspoken spell—did he ever truly gravitate toward them?

sneak peek...

The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across the room as you hovered over the worn, leather-bound grimoire. The scent of lavender and rosemary curled in the air, mingling with the faint trace of ozone that always followed your spellwork. Tonight, you were attempting something... experimental.

A love spell. On Sam Winchester.

Have you got color in your cheeks?

You weren’t in love with him, per se. Not really. You just wanted to see if it would work. If someone as relentlessly logical, as frustratingly skeptical as Sam could actually be ensnared by magic. It was, in essence, a test of your own abilities—a harmless little experiment.

With a smirk, you let a single drop of your blood drip into the concoction. The potion shimmered, turned an iridescent shade of violet, and thickened like molten amethyst. The candles around you flickered violently, their flames stretching unnaturally toward the ceiling. A gust of unseen wind coiled around your body, chilling your skin as you whispered the incantation. The words dripped from your lips, ancient syllables curling in the air like smoke. The room trembled, the air charged with raw energy, and you knew—knew—that the spell had taken hold.

And yet… nothing.

'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat

No sudden adoring gaze from across the bunker’s library. No dreamy sighs or poetic confessions. In fact, Sam walked in not ten minutes later, completely unaffected, utterly normal, and annoyingly unaware that you had just attempted to bend the very fabric of fate in your favor.

At first, you chalked it up to bad luck. But then strange things started happening over the next few days.

It was subtle at first—Sam waking up groggier than usual, rubbing his temples like he had a headache he couldn’t shake. He kept pausing mid-sentence, frowning as if he had forgotten what he was about to say. And then there was the way he looked at you—not with love-struck admiration, but with something like suspicion. Like he could feel the edges of something off but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He blinked at you one evening, frowning slightly. “Did you—uh—did you do something in here?”

Your stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a weird energy. Feels like… I dunno. Like something’s buzzing, but not quite.” His brows furrowed as he surveyed the candles, the bowl of shimmering liquid, and the open book at your feet. “Wait, is that Latin? What were you casting?”

Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

You huffed, quickly slamming the book shut. “Nothing important.”

But over the week, the clues stacked up. The way Dean kept side-eyeing Sam like he was waiting for his brother to say something. The way Sam’s fingers twitched when he was near you, like he was trying to reach for something but stopping himself. The way he started watching you—not in a soft, affectionate way, but with the sharp gaze of a hunter piecing together a case.

Then, on the fifth night, he found your spell remnants tucked away under your bed. The half-melted candle, the parchment stained with your own blood, the last shimmering drops of the failed potion. When you walked into your room, he was already sitting on the edge of your bed, the evidence laid out in front of him like a crime scene.

Sam gave you that look—the one that said he wasn’t buying your crap for a second. He crossed his arms, looming over you in a way that made your heart do something it absolutely shouldn’t be doing. “Tell me you weren’t messing with love magic.”

You scoffed, feigning offense. “Pfft. Please. Like I would waste my time on that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”

“…Fine. Maybe.”

“On who?”

Your silence was damning. Sam’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Wait. On me?”

Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you'd stay

“Look,” you said quickly, “I wasn’t trying to force anything, okay? I just wanted to see if it would work on you. Scientific curiosity.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said dryly, rubbing a hand down his face. “And?”

You exhaled dramatically. “Nothing. Zilch. Nada. You’re apparently immune to my magic. Which is honestly kind of insulting.”

A slow, almost amused smile played on Sam’s lips. He took a step closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Just… interesting that you’d even try.” His voice had taken on a lower, softer timbre, and damn him, he knew exactly what he was doing. “You really think you need magic for that?”

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Your breath caught. The air between you shifted, suddenly charged with something far more potent than any spell you could cast. Sam, still frustratingly unaffected, leaned in just enough to make your pulse spike.

“I—” you started, but the words tangled in your throat.

He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, Sam turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you alone with your useless spell and the mortifying realization that you hadn’t needed it in the first place.

Do you want me crawling back to you?

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

coming soon.....

TAG LIST: @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @dianawinchester03 @cheynovak @mahi-wayy @myceliumsunshine @star-maker-rain-dancer @youdontknowe

[pollsnatural]

*I love it when he fails and messes things up, but sometimes it's too much.

Cas haters will be eaten alive (i.e. blocked) if they leave negative comments about Cas.

Dean poll, Sam poll

[supernotnatural2005]

In The End Masterlist

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x Reader + Dean x Reader

Summary: The world has ended, and holding onto the people he loves has proven impossible.

Over time, Dean has hardened from grief and loss, but what happens when a familiar face is thrust 5 years into the future. Can he convince them to do things right, or has his destiny already been set.

Warnings/tags: implied smut (18+), Angst!! Major character deaths. Possible Triggers: suicide!! Swearing, fluff.

AN: A little two part series set in the endverse timeline, as well as canon to Season 5, episode 4 The End. It was something that just struck me and i guess this is what came of it 😅. This one is heller angst, so i am sorry for that, 👀 but i’m a stickler for a happy ending, so i hope it gives you some hope 🙌🏻

Main Masterlist

Part One

Part Two - coming soon...

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @amberlthomas @illicithallways