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Introducing Sage Anne Singer
Playing pretend is my Roman Empire. So, I've been rewatching Supernatural and depositing an original female character into the mix. Now that I'm on Season 13? Probably time to start sharing and putting my work out into the ether.
We know in the canon that Bobbyâs wife Karen wanted kids, but Bobby told her he âbreaks everything he touches,â and doesnât want them for that reason. She is possessed by a demon only a few days later and, with his then-limited knowledge, he ends up killing her; Rufus exorcizes the demon after her body is too broken to survive. Then Bobby becomes a hunter in his grief. He and Rufus hunt together until Bobby gets someone important to Rufus killed. Eventually, John Winchester leaves his two sons with Bobby for extended periods of time on occasion.Â
Hereâs whatâs new:Â
A few years after Karen dies, Bobby has a one-night stand in Ashland, Oregon, when heâs on a case. And a few years after that, he finds himself in the same town while hunting a demon. His one-night stand is a victim⌠and leaves behind a young girl who is clearly Bobbyâs daughter. What else can he do? He takes her home, realizing that in a funny way, Karen belatedly gets her wish. Enter Sage.
Sage is raised by Bobby, with many, many guest appearances by (Uncle) Rufus. In some ways, her childhood parallels Samâs and Deanâs; she travels, but stays at the motel, living on boxed cereal and vending machine Sprite. In dive bars all across the country, Rufus Rufus has trained her to be a damn fine pool player from a very young age. Although Bobby is hesitant to let her tote a shotgun into danger while sheâs younger, he does teach her Latin and Ancient Greek, and lets her immerse herself in the lore. By the time sheâs 13, sheâs gone from research aide to bonafide lore librarian.Â
We know that Bobby was always upset with John Winchester for not really allowing Sam and Dean to have a childhood, so itâs important to add that Bobby did let Sage âbe a kid,â too. One of his memories of young!Sage is that she liked to pick leaves and berries and mash them with stones in an old cast iron pot to âmake spellsâ; itâs what led him to start showing her, later, how to concoct the real thing. They are never out of town on her birthdayâSeptember 13 (1980)âand every year he makes her chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes for dinner and they bake a cobbler together for dessert. In this universe, Bobby is a perpetually grumpy fan of the Minnesota Twins, and he raises Sage to love baseball; once a year, they drive out to the Twin Cities to catch a game.
Because Sioux Falls is still their home base, Sage has something of a cohesive education, despite extended absences throughout her academic career. Sheâs a bit of a know-it-all who dearly loves to be right, and so while some teachers might have bemoaned her wasted potential, others werenât terribly surprised when the girl who got detention for socking boys in the face for pestering girls in the hallway didnât pursue college. Her social life is mostly limited to the children of other huntersâfor example, she accompanies Bobby to the Roadhouse throughout most of her life and becomes close with Joâbut she goes to a few parties and, since everyone thinks her dad is the town drunk, leans into it and becomes known for furiously dancing to any and all music playing, and shooting cheap whiskey. She and Bobby fixed up a minty green Ford F100 when she turned 16, and she sometimes drives it out to dive bars in small towns to hustle pool (thank you, Uncle Rufus).Â
Ah, and then thereâs Sam and Dean. As kids, Sam bonds with her best, because they both love to read; she lends him her favorite books, and they read together in the back of pickup trucks in the yard, with flashlights on top of sleeping bags under the stars. Sometimes, because she knows heâs lonely, she sends him postcards when she and Bobby and Rufus are on the road. Dean thinks sheâs bossy (heâs not wrong), and they tend to butt heads and argue about such significant topics as whether bunting makes sense (it does), and if sriracha is good on boxed macaroni and cheese (it is).Â
Sage is short and curvy, with pale skin and bright green eyes. Her hair is brown and wavy, and she almost always styles it in french braids. As an adult, she tends to wear 90s floral dresses, jumpers, overalls, or shorts over tightsâusually with a jean jacket, boots, and a vintage trucker cap of some kind. Bobby gave her an antique locket when she was 10 with minor warding, and she hasnât taken it off since. After season 7, she starts to collect some tattoos.Â
Other stuff: the woman drinks whisky and Hamms beer; her favorite books are The Three Musketeers and Homerâs Odyssey; she loves 1960s soul Ă la Otis Redding and Sam Cooke.
#fanfiction#fanfic#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#original female character#spn ofc#bobby singer's daughter#sage singer#spn oc#escapism#original character#eventual smut#eventual romance
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hilarious how Cas was human for all of literally not even 1 full episode and the writers already had him stripping all 3 layers and showing off miles of that pretty skin
#not to mention they used a clip from this scene specifically in the s9 teaser#bc ofc they did#they knew what they were doing#castiel#spn#supernatural#spn 9x01#misha collins#emily yaps
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sometimes a found family is the son of satan, a gay angel, his husband, and A Guyâ˘
#btw this is not sam slander#oh and rowena is the wine aunt ofc#sam winchester#dean winchester#destiel#dean cas#castiel spn#castiel supernatural#jack kline#jack spn#jack supernatural#rowena macleod#supernatural#spn
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Headcanon that cas does not understand human pet-names in the slightest. Sure he knows about âdarlingâ, âhoneyâ, âsugarâ, but he doesnât understand why those words are chosen specifically. One day, Dean and Cas are in the kitchen, Deanâs making dinner and Cas is watching him, and Deanâs like, âHey Cas, can you pass me the rice?â And Cas, wanting to impress Dean with his knowledge of human interaction/emotion, responds with âof course, Milk.â
#âCas thats not how it worksâ#âbut milk is sweet and whole Dean just as I see youââ#coming from someone who despises pet names#I think the only suitable one for Dean to use is Sweetheart#and sunshine makes me giggle and kick my feet#and ofc cas only uses Dean because everything else feels wrong#Dean is just so right#and the way he says it#itâs sknthem and so perfect#spn#supernatural#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#Headcanon
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đŠ¸Bloody Dean Every Episode𩸠Ⳡ5x18 || Point of No Return Part 1
#one of THEE bloody!dean destiel gay sex scenes of all time<3#and ofc the first!!#bloodydeanseries#bloody dean#my beloved<3#spn 5x18#spnedit#destieledit#cowboycoven#spn#supernatural#dean winchester#destiel#tw blood#altarofrowena
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June 25-30, 2024 - ???
Not for the first time [x] [x], Supernatural decided to increase everyone's blood pressure by trending for absolutely no reason. It's been jumping at random trending slots on and off, but as far as I can tell, there's no specific source, other than the universe hating to see us at peace.
Unless- @mishacollins do you know something we don't?
#why is supernatural trending#i wish i knew#might be tumblr just messing with us#or it's in preparation for some incoming major post-spn event#there've been some articles and general spn-posting but nothing major enough to cause the trend looks like#ofc if something changes i'll make sure to post#supernatural#spn
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In The Lonely Shadows (2/2) Dean W.
Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.
the first part of this was requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March.
Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists.Â
A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.
A/N #2: people were rabid about asking me for a part two. So please, enjoy!
WC: 1.7K
Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowleyâs nice, dean returns. sassy & protective crowley
[READ PART ONE HERE]
Read on Ao3!
--
Dean watched as your chest heaved up and down with every breath you took. The wind was howling outside, with rain pouring down. He was only partially soaked, having run for cover under teh pitiful awning above your hotel door. A suitcase was tucked into one hand and a backpack filled with supplies slung over the shoulder. He'd wanted to say goodbye before he left. But he couldn't. He was a coward, after all. He'd had a few visits from Castiel and Crowley, neither of them saying a word about you.
Though, he asked. He hasnât spoken a word about Sam, either. The horror of watching Sam fall into the pits of Hell with Adam devastated him. So he ran away. He ran away to the person who would get him away from the hunterâs life, Lisa and Ben. He played pretend for as long as he possibly could.
Until he couldnât keep up with the facade anymore. All he did was think about you, and the life the pair of you could have had. Heâd find himself hovering over your name in his cellphone but never pressing the call button. Oftentimes, heâs stay up late at night, while Lisa laid peacefully next to him sleeping. Â He knew he couldnât lie to her forever about what - or who - truly had his heart.
Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.
So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. Heâd gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didnât leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.
He hadnât seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when youâd laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldnât forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.
God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes.Â
He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didnât want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if youâd thrown all of it away.
But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldnât see any other personâs belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.
Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.
âY/N,Y/N, itâs me, itâs Dean,â he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. âHey, hey.â
âDean?â you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Deanâs voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.
Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice youâd come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.
âShe doesnât need you, Squirrel. Sheâs doing great without you.â Crowleyâs voice echoed in the small room.Â
Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.
âYou left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, heâs been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.â
You could see the agitated twitch in Deanâs cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.
âBut now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?â Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.
âHowâs Lisa and Ben?â Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. âDidnât want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didnât want your baggage?â
âItâs none of your business, Crowley,â Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.
He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadnât run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.
He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.
He hadnât known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.
âNo harsh words, Not Moose?â Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. âNo quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you. Â Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."â
You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Deanâs direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy.Â
You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you.Â
"I bet sheâs just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.
âCrowley, enough,â you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didnât cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Deanâs height in stride. âSo, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?â
âI was wrong,â Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. âI never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.â
âIâm not forgiving you, Dean.â you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. âHow could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell Iâve been through? You werenât the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.â
He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.
âItâs been fourteen months, Deanâfourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Samâs birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.â
He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.
âDean, I donât know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.â you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again.Â
âI canât leave you, not again. Never again,â he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face.Â
Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. âCrowley will kill me for this. But I canât help but think that Iâm still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and Iâm absolutely exhausted.âÂ
Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowleyâs absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.
--
**totally up for a part three IF people want it. So please, please, please, if you enjoyed this reblog this & leave comments.
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x female!reader#dean winchester x ofc#dean winchester x sister!reader#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester is saved#dean winchester icons#dean winchester is bi#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester fanart#supernatural imagine#spn imagine#spn x reader#supernatural x reader#spn fanart#spn fanfic#spn family#spn fandom#spn famdom#dean winchester supernatural#dean winchester spn#dean winchester series#dean winchester smut#jensen ackles x you#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles x y/n#jensen ackles x plus size reader
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The Honorable Choice - Part 1
Pairing:Â Dean Winchester x OFCÂ
Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didnât expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribeâs horse.
AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.
Disclaimer:Â Iâve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.
Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU
Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack
Word Count:Â 4.6K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.
đ Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist
đď¸ Listen to the podfic version here!
Part 1: Pride & Prejudice
June 1872
Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.
Deanâs path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.
Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?
Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.
Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way sheâs dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.
âWhat have we got here?â Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.
âI caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,â Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. Thatâs going to be a bad break.
She remains tight lipped, stubborn.Â
âProbably doesnât even understand English. Savage bitch,â he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.
âPut a cork in it, Roman,â he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. âYouâre a Lakota, arenât you?â
Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.
The proud tilt of the womanâs chin is her only answer to Deanâs question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like heâs the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.Â
âThe Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?â he asks.
She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the campâs latest âguest.â Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. Heâs a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.
The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corralâno food or water for three days. Heâd turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.
âBreak him.â
Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.
âOh, donât tell me you here for him,â Dean says with a chuckle. âThat thingâs a little too much for you, sweetheart.â
That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.
âHe is too much for you,â she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. âHe is one of ours. You will never break him.â
Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.
So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.
âAh, well see,â Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. âThatâs kind of our specialty.â
âSir, should we take her to the stockade?â Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but heâs always been good at following orders.
Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.
âNot the stockade,â he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. âNot yet.â
He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.
âWe wonât hurt you. I give you my word,â the Colonel says, âif youâll lead us to your peopleâs camp.â
He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like heâs examining a dirty animal, and all that heâll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.
Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. Sheâs got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.
The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the womanâs cry. Dean doesnât allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.
Only Kline and Novakâs hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesnât give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.
âThe post,â he barks. âThree days. No food or water.â
Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.
Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. Itâs a path that cuts straight through Sioux territoryâthe bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.
âThe natives are fightinâ us tooth and nail,â Sanderson says. âBut maybe our guest will be able to help usâŚnegotiate.â
Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didnât join the army to fight the Indians. He doesnât always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fightâto protect their land, and to protect their own. Itâs the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.
He joined the army becauseâŚwell, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and heâd died an honorable death, now about a decade past.
Has it really been ten years? Christ.
Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.
Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.Â
After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.
Things are running as usual, but many of the menâs eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Deanâs attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the womanâs dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a ravenâs wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.
âYou okay, brother?â Benny asks. Dean realizes what heâs doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.
Always forward, never backward.
âJust fine,â Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.
âA bit unsavory, ainât it?â he says. âKeeping her chained up without even a lick of water.â
âThe Indians are getting smarter, bolder. Theyâre ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,â Dean says. âThis is strategy.â
Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.
âIf she was a man, you guys wouldnât give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,â Dean says.
Bennyâs gaze shifts downward. He doesnât reply, but he concedes the point all the same.
They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.
Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. Sheâs prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. Itâs not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.
She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.
âI see you, Mato. I am with you,â she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isnât broken.
âHey! Shut the hell up over there,â Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.
Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Menâs hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.
She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cageâwhether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.
She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.
In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didnât find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.
She has three days to think.
That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.
The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.
âYou know, youâre a pretty one,â he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. âFor a wild thing.â
His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.
She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.
He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.
He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.
He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.
She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.
Suddenly, the manâs body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam sheâs tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesnât take much, just a few well-placed fists.
Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, thatâs for sure.
Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.
âGet back to the goddamn barracks. Youâre gonna be mucking out stalls until shitâs coming out of your ears,â he growls.
Roman doesnât argue, though itâs obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.
Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but itâs still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Milaâs gaze briefly falls to his hands. Theyâre calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.
âSorry about that,â he says.
Itâs not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.
âIâm not gonna hurt you,â he says.
âThat is what your Colonel said,â she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. âI didnât believe him either.â
His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crowâs feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.
âFair enough.â
He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.
âItâs water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,â he says.
She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonelâs orders, he lets her drink as much water as sheâs able. When sheâs done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.
âWhatâs your name?â he asks.
That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isnât worthy.
âDonât wanna even tell me your name?â he says. He nods slightly. âOkay, well, Iâm Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.â
He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. Sheâs never seen a White act like this, breaking his leaderâs rules, beingâŚkind.
What a strange man.
But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She wonât hold her breath.
Deanâs brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing heâs not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.
âWell, goodnight,â he says.
He finally leaves her alone, but she canât help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors. Â
A strange man.
By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.
Heâs no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.
In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.
Today, heâs getting in the ring with the mustang.
âŚWell, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell itâs becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.
Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. Sheâs enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.
Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.
He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but heâs not done. Heâs still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.
âAll right, mustang. Youâre big and bad. I get it,â Dean says lowly. âBut I donât scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.â
Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.
âHold onto your hat, Cap,â Benny mutters.
Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like itâs just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. Heâs fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.
The horse gets smarter.
He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twiceâand manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.
He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like heâs laughing. Dean canât help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.
This guyâs got some brass balls, Iâll give him that.
The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows sheâs been caught. Despite his injured pride, Deanâs lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?
âI see things are going well,â comes a familiar drawl.
Deanâs face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.
âWell, uh, itâs going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,â Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.
âHold him steady,â Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.
To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.
The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.
So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.
Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.
âYou see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,â he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. âMove along, mustang.â
To everyoneâs amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.
âThere are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,â Sanderson continues. âThe Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.â
His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.
âA hostile Lakota,â he says in derision, âwill never submit to providence.â
She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.
Dean doesnât realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.
âAnd itâs that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,â Sanderson says. âDiscipline, time, and patience. Thatâs all you need to level a wild thing.â
Just then, the horse stops abruptly.
âMustang?â Sanderson asks in warning.
Dean tenses. He knows whatâs about to happen.
âSir!â he calls out.
But itâs too late.
The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creatureâs back.
The horseâs angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animalâs head. He comes face to face with the horseâs crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.
Hot breath heats Sandersonâs face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.
While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.
Kline and Roman wrangle the horseâs reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he canât interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.
The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonelâs arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.
Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.
Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. âShit!â
He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.
âCome on, sweetheart,â he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.
Theyâre already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. Thereâs still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.
Deanâs jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.
Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.
Right about now, his brother is probably right.
Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.
The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isnât far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horseâs neck and mane, and she doesnât even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.
Deanâs face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.
He gives her a little kick with his heel. âCome on, Baby. Go!â
Heâs able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.
Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.
"Damn it!" Dean mutters.
He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.
They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.
Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesnât know how heâs going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesnât want to have to use his gun.
Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows sheâs caught.
âAll right, sweetheart. Thatâs enough,â Dean says.
He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustangâs reins.
Thatâs when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.
AN:Â And here we go! đ
Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. đŤśđ˝ For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.
There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...
Next Time:
Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.
âSon of a bitch,â he wheezes, while trying to get back up.
The woman jumps down from the mustangâs back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. Itâs probably no more than two inches long.
Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but heâs still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. Theyâre both breathing hard.
Dean has a problem.
Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shockâŚÂ
âśď¸ Keep Reading: PART 2
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Most shows naturally start at season 1, can't believe Supernatural went against the odds and started at season 4.
#not to be a toxic Cas girlie but he came in stole the show and carried it for 11 seasons#along with his boyfriend ofc#Misha carried.#supernatural#spn#cas#castiel#castiel spn#destiel#deancas#castiel art#dean winchester
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my favourite hc for sam and dean is that if they were to fuck they'd be labelless and it would NOT be what they both wanted. like sam explicitly wishes he and dean could be boyfriends and have a normal relationship and dean is just like sam we are brothers who have sex i dont think labels fucking matter. im not even fucking gay, remember? and sam is like...but does that mean we're exclusive and dean instead just reminds him their job means they cant be tied down so it doesnt matter. and sams slightly heartbroken by that but regardless hes still the one being fucked by dean and loved by dean and wakes up to him, so can he really complain?
#and they continue fucking with just some fucked up unnecessary yearning because ofc dean would pick sam over anyone else.#*drinks* is it a crime to enjoy sam dealing with never getting what he wants even when he pratically has it#wincest#sam winchester#dean winchester#spn#supernatural#samdean#OOC
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having thoughts about mutual masturbation with sam and dean.. them being so casual about it because it's not sex, they're just doing something fun together, sharing another part of their lives. it's not like they're touching each other or anything.
they start late one night at a motel, sam thinks dean's asleep, hears his shallow, even breaths. he doesn't want to get up and go to the bathroom to take care of his little issue in fear of dean hearing and waking up and questioning him. so, he stays on his side facing the wall, keeping his movements as slow as possible to prevent himself from making too much noise.
he doesn't even bother slipping his cock out of his boxers, just shoves his hand in and starts with tentative strokes, swiping his thumb over his slit on every other pass.
he doesn't even mean to, but his thoughts begin to wander to dean in the bed next to his, what his hand would feel like on his own dick, what kind of sounds he'd make, how his hot mouth would make him feel. he tried to push them down, down into that dark space in the back of his brain, where they could never surface. he thought of pretty girls he'd seen on tv, all smooth skin and long hair, he thought of the women in the skin mags he used to have as a teen, hidden away at the bottom of his duffel, he even thought of jess,, anything to keep his mind away from the sleeping body in the bed adjacent to his own.
sam speeds up his pace, using his thumb to pick up the bead of precum forming on his tip to drag down his length. soon, against his efforts, his mind wandered back to his big brother, what it would be like to have dean on top of him, grinding down, kissing down his neck, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
before he knew it, sam was climbing closer to the edge, having to turn his face into the pillow to muffle his heavy breaths and stop himself from letting out a whine. he began pulling harder and faster on his cock, desperate to reach the edge and release himself.
sam heard himself inhale sharply. only he didn't feel it. and it sounded like it came from somewhere else in the room, not his own mouth. oh. oh god. he ceased his movements and held his breath, then turned his head around to face the rest of the room.
his eyes met another pair, glistening in the dark from the bed opposite. dean is facing him, unmoving but very clearly understands what sam is doing.
"sammy."
"dean. o-oh my god, dean. i-i'm so sorry, i didn't-" sam panics. this can't be happening right now. he pulls his hand out of his boxers as he sits up, his cheeks burning with humiliation and the remnants of lust.
"sammy." dean follows sams movements and sits up as well, the duvet falling down to his waist from where it was previously hiked up over his shoulders, revealing his bare chest.
"sammy, it's okay, man. stop freaking out."
sam can't even meet deans eyes. his own are beginning to glisten over with unshed tears as he twists his fingers in his lap. this turns out to be a mistake, as when sam looks down at deans lap, he notices that he's sporting a hard-on of his own.
sam's eyes widen, and he looks back up at dean's. dean shifts back until he's leaned up against the headboard, sliding out from under the duvet, exposing his boxer-clad thighs. thighs that sam was thinking unholy thoughts about moments before.
"s' okay, sammy. this doesn't have to be weird." dean's hand reaches down his toned belly to his boxers, resting his hand upon the bulge residing there.
"what-" sam's still stunned, things moving too fast for him to comprehend.
"s' okay sammy. there's nothin' wrong. 's just us."
dean's eyes are on sam's the entire time, and when he reaches into his boxers to cup himself, something inside sam snaps into place.
"fuck." sam sharply inhales as his brain catches up with the occurring events. he leans himself back against his own headboard, his head tilted toward dean and his eyes never leaving the older's.
"dean."
's just us, sammy." dean's hand is moving now, sam can see it through the darkness of the room, the faint moonlight from the window illuminating dean's form.
"god, dean." sam's own hand once again reaches back down into his boxers, his cock back to almost full hardness. he gasps, already way too close to the edge.
his eyes meet dean's, and sam whispers, "just us."
dean's pumping his cock faster now, breathing picking up into soft huffs as he gets himself closer to release.
sam isn't going to last much longer, already strung up from his earlier activities, and his senses are heightened with dean right next to him, watching. he swipes his thumb across his head again, and he's a goner.
"fuck, dean, i-" sam whines.
"you gonna come, sammy?" dean's almost there too, just needs a little more to push him over the edge. "you're so close, aren't you, baby? c'mon, sammy, do it for me, huh? come for your big brother, sammy."
dean's words ring through sam's ears and his grip tightens on his dick. sam's body tenses, he see's stars as he spasms and whines through his climax. his load shoots into his boxers and make his hand slippery for his last few strokes.
"oh, dean, oh my-fuck."
sam's release triggers dean's, and he comes with a shout, stringing together words that sound like, "that's it sammy, that's a good boy. fuck, sammy, my good boy." sam is still experiencing aftershocks and dean shoots streaks of come into his own boxers.
the only sound that can be heard in the room is heavy panting from both of the brothers.
"shit, sam. we need to do that more often." dean shoots sam a lopsided grin through the darkness, and sam sends one back, his breath beginning to even out.
"agreed."
the pair sleeps soundly that night, sated and genuinely relaxed for the first time in what feels like forever. in the morning, they don't talk about it, but share a look of understanding as they step outside for breakfast. no words need to be shared between the two.
the following night, dean sends sam one look and he's shoving his jeans down his hips, already at an agreement.
it's never weird and i think sam and dean do this every night.
#longest drabble so far?#ive been writing this all day and now its past midnight so sorry if the end is rushed#i just wanted to get this out there#hope you guys enjoy#goodnight#samdean#wincest#gencest#weirdcest#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#dean winchester#not proofread ofc lol
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people making spn polls are some of our bravest soldiers
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at this point Jensen has probably been begging Misha to do a Super Gay destiel spn revival with him bc he literally cannot stop verbally and physically loving all over Misha
#ofc he doesn't need to beg that hard#i'm sure misha is thrilled about the concept of making out with jensen on camera#it prob wouldn't be the first time smh#jensen ackles#jackles#misha collins#jenmish#cockles#destiel#spn#supernatural#spn revival#spn season 16#emily yaps
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Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will.
#hellhoundsprey#spn fanart#wincest#bottom!sam#top!dean#wincest wednesday#wincest wednesdays 2024#we're making art to lana songs in the year of our lord 2024 ofc. lets gooooo
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Castiel Coffee Angel of the Lord
Be not Caffeinated Afraid
.... this latte tastes like devotion.
#hes just a little guy#castiel#castiel's trueform#trueform!cas#destiel#deancas#spn#supernatural#coffeenatural#spn coffee art#my coffee art#castiel fanart#latte art#also yeah ofc he wobbles#his best quality: his wiggles#pie's projects
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Sir I am a Supernatural fan
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