#spn season 9

[aventuras-de-andre]

after The Fall, when angels could no longer fly, I would’ve killed for a roadtrip between a bunch of angels. Just Cas driving 3-4 angels somewhere safe. These angels aren’t dead-set on killing Cas but they are still pissed. The silence is SO tense. Cas’ attempts at conversation make it even worse.

Cas: Sam taught me this roadtrip game—

Angels: did Sam also teach you how to be the most annoying mistake in existence, or does that come naturally?

Cas:

Cas: okay, so no games.

[thatbloodjunkie]

Dean Winchester, after Sammy told him he wouldn't let the world burn just to save his life.

[mvdeanw]

Dean // SPN - 9x12

Dean ( Jensen ) love club: @jillmariej @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @brilovesdeanwinchester @waywardbaby @spnfangirl1314 @shawnie74 @kwistowee @queenofallerdalehall @charred-angelwings @girlshunttoo @adoptdontshoppets @ddriverpicksthemusic @milo-winchester-4ever @wickedinspirations @quicklymybasement @jensensgotyoudean @lequisha @deansraspberrypie @thoughts-and-funnies @raidens-realm @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @eevvvaa @doublebill @avanatural @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @catnipster69 @jerksbitch @hopefuldreamers-world

[lazarrusrising]

I don't know if I can watch Castiel finally feel like he's going to be okay as a human, because the humans he trusts most, the ones he considers family, that he looks at and considers the best of humanity are there, they have him now, he's finally safe. Only for the man he loves to turn around and tell him to leave.

[bettystonewell]

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Aussie!Reader

Summary: Having escaped the police station with the help of Dean, you start to feel like you might have been safer where you were. Dean claims he can help you, but the guy is talking about monsters and playing with guns.

Chapter Word Count: 2.4K words

Tags/Warnings: language, she’s rather chill with the Stockholm syndrome

Aussie Stuff: a Crocodile Dundee reference and referring to Baby’s trunk as a boot

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

December 2013

Shit, shit, shit. The words repeated over and over in your mind. A worried expression now crossed your face and Agent Smith, scrap that, Dean fucking Winchester, was darting his eyes back and forth between you and the road as he continued driving further away from the police station.

You were essentially trapped in the moving vehicle with no hope of escaping. The car was moving way too fast for you to even attempt to open the door and roll safely away. Even though you hated to admit it, you realised you had been safer with Officer Tubby at the police station all along.

“Sorry for lying to you back there,” Dean spoke with a half grin. He sure didn’t look sorry. “But it was the only way for me to get in there to talk to you.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Saying anything seemed way too risky given the situation. You had no idea what this guy was capable of. He’d already lied to the local law enforcement.

You looked over at the odometer on the car’s dash, but the numbers were lower than you expected. ‘Right, America uses miles,’ you thought. So you tried to calculate in your head how fast you might be going. ‘There’s about two kilometres in a mile—’

“Look. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m the best chance you’ve got of making your way back home.” He raised his hand and pointed his thumb like he was hitching a ride. “The officers back there, they can’t do jack. Same with the other guys that were coming for you. They have no clue what they’re dealing with.”

“And you do?” you asked, the sarcasm clear in your voice.

“Yup.” His eyes moved back to the road once again.

“Okay,” you started, trying to choose your next words carefully, “Look. I really appreciate you getting me out of there and all, but I’m good now. You can just—drop me off somewhere and I’ll figure it out by myself and—”

“Yeah, I can’t do that.” The grin that had lined his face vanished and his green eyes narrowed. “Someone’s gone through a lot of trouble to bring you here, and it’s my job to find out why.”

“Your job? You’re clearly not any kind of law-officer-person, so what exactly is your job?”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he heard you stutter through your American legal terminology. You barely had any knowledge of the cops back home, having never done anything remotely criminal. Well, maybe a speeding ticket or two, but you’d never set foot in a police station and definitely never been contained as you had been back there.

As for things in the United States, that was a whole other ball game. You knew nothing except what you’d seen in movies and TV, but that was all fiction. This definitely wasn’t. Law and Order SVU wasn’t going to help you here.

Country hopping in your sleep. International fraud. The stint back at the police station and this ‘little joy ride’ you were now experiencing in Dean’s car (assuming it was his and not stolen), was the most adventure you’d probably had in your life to date and you weren’t even the one driving. You were wearing the handcuffs though and in that moment you were reminded of the metal rings giving you more cuts. Your attempt to readjust them up your arms and away from the raw skin didn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“I’m a hunter,” he said while you played with the cuffs. You just needed to get out of them, then you could consider your other options. “When we’re a safe distance away, I’ll help you get them off.”

Wait. A hunter?

It took a while, but when the word finally registered in your brain, it brought on questions.

Lots of them.

“A hunter? Like ‘wascally wabbits’ and ducks? Or are you America’s answer to Dundee?” The jeer was probably a bad idea, but you couldn’t help it. Why would he bring up his hobby of all things?

“No.” Dean’s demeanour was no longer playful if you could have ever really called it that to begin with. “You know Twilight? Vampires, werewolves, it’s all real. Just—less sparkles, more blood. A lot more blood.”

Your mouth dropped open. You quickly shut it before Dean noticed.

“Me and my brother, we hunt them, all of them. Not just Dracula. Demons, ghosts, pretty much everything except Big Foot and Godzilla all exist. And angels, too. Those cuts on your skin, the Enochian, some angels and demons still speak it. I know a guy who can probably tell you what it says. Might be your ticket home,” Dean finished matter-of-factly.

“You’re serious?” was all you managed to spit out. Not only was Dean dangerous, but he also clearly needed therapy.

“It’s a lot to take in, okay? Believe me, I know. This ain’t my first monster talk.” A slight grin had returned to his face, his tone a little more relaxed. “Normally I have to give the talk to people after they’ve seen something. So I get it. You’re sceptical. But it’s the truth. Just give it time. Hanging out with me, whatever’s going on with you there, you’re bound to see it for yourself sooner or later.”

“And what makes you think I want to ‘hang out’ with you?” your sarcasm returned.

“Right now. You don’t have much of a choice.” He was quick. Witty almost, and damn irritating. “You’re technically a fugitive.” He smirked.

The sun was setting as Dean walked back to you, waiting in the car out front of the shady-looking motel. You’d been on the road for about two hours now and were relieved to know that you were finally going to be given the chance to get out and stretch your legs.

You had discovered on your journey that the black beast of a car did, in fact, belong to Dean. It had previously belonged to his father, who had started him on his path to what Dean called ‘the family business’. He’d also told you briefly about his brother, Sam, who had recently stopped talking to him over ‘something stupid’.

Man, it was odd to be making friends with a guy who was potentially your captor, but small talk was better than awkward silence.

Dean had asked you more of what you remembered during your night out in the city. Had you noticed anyone following you? Had you met or talked to anyone new? Had you felt or seen anything unusual? Cold spots? The smell of eggs? His questions were strange, but you humoured him, anyway.

The car was moved to a parking spot in front of the room the two of you were going to be staying in for the night. You walked inside ahead of him as he went to retrieve his belongings from the boot of the car.

As you didn’t feel like sitting down again but were also at a loss for what to do while you waited, you poked around the tiny room. Checking it all out, only there wasn’t much to look at. Two beds, a table and chairs, a mini fridge and ageing yellow walls that reminded you of piss...

At least there was a bed for you - with stained sheets and a scratchy blanket. A vast improvement from your cell cot back at the police station.

Dean entered the room and locked the door diligently behind him, making certain to apply the little chain that was supposed to add security. You were starting to believe him, at least in his sincerity p that he thought monsters and such existed. He was definitely putting on a show for you, but you were a firm seeing-is-believing type. If anything it humoured you to see the grown man acting so cautiously.

He placed a duffle on the bed closest to the door and a first aid kit on the small table that sat in front of the only window in the room. He then reached into the back pocket of his suit pants and pulled out a small metal cylinder, using one hand to take the lid off, revealing a lock pick.

“Let’s get those cuffs off,” Dean said as he motioned for you to come sit down at the table with him.

Your eyes followed his hands as he worked to pick the tiny lock holes and within a couple of minutes, you were released from the silver rings. It was such a relief to be free again, and you pulled back the cuff on both arms of the jacket you were wearing to inspect the injured skin they left behind.

But regret hit you as Dean grabbed your arms and he too examined the cuts and old bruises along with them. “They were really rough with you at the station.” It was a statement, not a question, and one filled with pity.

A small sound of agreement escaped your lips.

“Let me clean up these fresh cuts and then I’m sure you’d appreciate a hot shower.”

He was right.

“You hungry? I bet they didn’t feed you much in that cell either?”

You were hungry. Tired, too. And that shower, although smelling a little funky at the back of the room, sounded amazing, and you practically jumped at the chance to wash away the metaphorical filth of your ordeal.

There were no clean clothes to change into though and the thought crossed your mind to use one of the robes the motel had provided in the room. However, knowing that you were going to be sharing a room with Dean for the night made you cautious. You were warming to him, at least less on your guard than you were when you’d first met, but he was still a stranger and you felt uncomfortable wearing nothing more around him.

So you put on the same clothes you’d been wearing since you’d last left your apartment back home in Sydney, and stepped out of the bathroom, feeling somewhat refreshed.

As you entered the main part of the room once again, the smell of burgers and fries filled the air and you looked over to see Dean with a cheeseburger in one hand and a beer in the other. He had been out while you showered. “Burger?” he mumbled through his mouthful and pointed to an unopened package sitting on the table.

He pulled a second beer out of the six-pack sitting on the table and offered it to you as you sat down. “You drink beer?” His mouth was finally empty of food.

“Sometimes,” you said, taking it from his hand. “Thanks.”

You wiped the top of the bottle over with your shirt, trying to remove the condensation from its tip, and then twisted the lid off with your hand, the fizz of the air escaping the thin neck.

“I’ll take you to a mall or something tomorrow and you can pick up anything you think you might need.” Dean began in between swigs of his beer. “I’m sure you’re sick of those clothes.”

“Yeah. Didn’t exactly pack real well for my night out, did I?” You laughed at your small joke. “But my credit card is fake, remember, and I doubt anywhere around here takes my dollarydoos. I’ve got no way of paying for anything.”

“Just leave that to me,” Dean replied with a smile.

“I couldn’t. You’ve done enough for me already.” You hated being in debt to your friends, let alone someone you’d just met.

“No, really. My cards fake too…” Dean said with his now trademark grin. “But unlike yours, mine works.” He winked at you.

You woke up the next morning, your mind refreshed, but feeling not so clean as you still wore the same clothes you’d put on almost a week ago. Your eyes soon adjusted to the morning light, and you sat up to see Dean sitting at the small table by the window. He was fidgeting with a large metal object in his hands. The metal clinked and clacked together as he moved the mechanical pieces of what you now realised was a gun.

You’d never seen a gun in real life before. Hell, most people you knew in Australia probably hadn’t up close. They were objects only seen on the belts of street police, or a farm maybe, or on TV of course.

You knew there were biker gangs that probably used them too, but all you knew of that was what you’d heard on the news. Yet here you were in this dingy motel room, somewhere in the middle of the US with your new found companion Dean, a self proclaimed monster hunter who helped you escape the American police barely twelve hours ago.

The small cuts still stung on your body when you moved wrong or grazed too hard against a surface were the only evidence you had that proved this wasn’t a dream. Everything you saw before you was very real.

“Morning,” Dean grunted. His lips curving in an attempt at a warm smile. He had changed his clothes sometime during the night, no longer donning the black FBI suit, but jeans, a chequered flannel shirt, military-style jacket, and boots. His appearance was definitely more rough around the edges than the day before.

You’d call him handsome, except the real gun he held in his hands threw any thought of that out the window. A small amount of fear bubbled once again, deep in your gut.

“Hi,” you breathed out, trying not to alert him to how you really felt in the moment. Unfortunately for you, though, he read you like a book.

Dean looked down at the gun in his hands, and in quick movements, clacked the moving parts back into their usual positions and then reached around and slid the gun into the makeshift pocket, made by his back and his jeans.

“You guys banned ‘em, right?” He was right, but he didn’t give you the chance to answer him.

“You’d best get used to it.” He chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t worry. I already told you, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just… Always prepared. Y’know? For the things that go bump in the night.”

He stood up and started packing them away. “I thought we’d leave in about ten minutes. Get some food, get you some essentials, and then I can figure out what I’m going to do with you,” he continued.

And geez, that sounded promising.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Ahhh - the first few chapter were so short. They get longer. I wrote this on the notes app on my phone before I considered really thinking about my word choices. I’m going to try uploading the next two on Sunday (16th) and Tuesday (18th) because they’re shorter.

The aussism’s are rather tame in this one, but they will become more obscure. For the Aussies playing along, I’ve wanted to slide in Rhonda and Ketut and “Charter boat? What charter boat?” in here for the longest time, but haven’t managed it yet.

Expect gems like, “We’re not here to fuck spiders,” and “It’s a long way to the shop if you wanna sausage roll,” to come ☺️

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @levine-23

If you’d like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, you can let me know in a comment/ask, or you can add yourself HERE.

[a-vibing-potato]

That photo of wet castiel is from spn episode I’m no angel 9x03

Oh, thank you so much! Honestly really surprised that it is from Supernatural but I'm only on season 5 so I guess there's definitely still room for me to be surprised lol. Can't wait to see him :)

[ghostcrypte]

If I could ask the writers/directors anything it would be if the way these two scenes were filmed was on purpose. In terms of similarity I mean - the positions being the same but the roles being flipped, the lighting being the same with it on Sam’s face but shadowing Dean’s, the hands on the face/neck, one of them being covered in blood and looking Out Of ItTM while the other has the expression of someone who knows how deep in absolute shit they are. Not to mention both of these scenes being followed up by one of them summoning a demon to make a deal for the life of the other. This show is insane and I am ILL-

⚠️ NOT w!ncest I will block you ⚠️

[dark-dragon-8]

So I just watched Road Trip (Supernatural), and something I don't think a lot of people talk about is what a good king Crowley is.

In his talk with Cecily, we can see that she's actually comfortable with him, she's not afraid of him like with Abaddon, she actually respects him, helping him out even though he's in chains.

Crowley asks her how's Hell and she tells him that it's a mess, that nobody's doing their job (implying that Crowley actually gave demons a job and a reason to stay in Hell, rather than just constantly torturing one another and making demons want to escape). It also shows how he actually cares about the demons there and the state of his kingdom, rather than just the position of power (which seems to be Abaddon's main, if not only goal).

Crowley also understands demons and their nature better than Abaddon, not scolding or threatening Cecily for playing both sides (he actually understands her and it shows how comfortable it makes her). It gives her insight into what a king should be, that's why she doesn't think to immediately lie to Abaddon and tell her that she tricked Crowley. She thought Abaddon would understand, like Crowley has, because that's what she grew to expect of her king; an understanding of their double sided, two faced nature.

This is also what makes him so confident that the demons accompanying Abaddon won't attack him. It's because he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, he knows that they're afraid, that they're not completely loyal to her, they're not loyal to anyone, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴, they're only loyal to themselves and their interests.

That's what Abaddon gets wrong, and what makes Crowley such a good king. Abaddon believes that she could control demons under an iron fist of chaos and cruelty. Crowley knows that there needs to be some good PR and a general understanding of their people, that along with (obviously) fear, in order to maintain that position.

[boykingscourt]

still one of the most insane promo shots

[planetaryfire]

In Season 9, episode 6 Heaven Can‘t Wait, when Cas freaks out over the baby he‘s supposed to babysit running a fever. He says he‘s going to bring it to the hospital because he doesn‘t know what to do. But at the end of the episode, after Dean showed up, Cas had given it medication and admitted to overreacting earlier.

Cas wouldn‘t know what to do against a fever. He hadn‘t been a human for that long yet. Dean does. Because when he was a kid, he had to look out for Sam. He gave him medication when he was sick and no one else would.

[donteverchxnge]

can someone please find that one in depth post about the nightstands & chair changing in deans room in season 9 when cas was/wasn’t there cause that was INSANE

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. angst. angry dean. implied death. strong language.

A/N : obviously i changed a few things for the character insert so bear with me. hopefully y’all don’t hate it too much. thanks for reading 💜

Maricela's POV

Dean had taken Kevin to a motel in Branson for a few days while Sam and I stayed at the bunker. After everything that's happened these past few weeks, Dean and I decided to take a little break ourselves. Sam—of course—had questions that I didn't know how to answer. Pretending that Dean never told me anything seemed to cease his inquiries—to me, at least. I knew he was waiting for his brother to get home to fill in the blanks. So, after attempting and failing to get more demon names from Crowley, I try and distract Sam.

"Saaammmm!" I whine as I walk toward the Winchester.

He sits on one of the chairs in front of the Map Table, documents from the Men of Letters scattered before him.

"Hmm?" He hums, eyes scanning over the records before scribbling on a notepad.

I wrap my arms around his neck from behind and nuzzle my face against his. "Take a break—watch a movie with me."

He taps my forearm gently, replying, "I can't. I have to find a way to help Cas."

"Trust me, I want nothing more than Cas to be here, but we can’t help him if we burn ourselves out. Let's just take a little break." My arms falter from their position before straightening my posture. I lean against the table, finishing my persuasion. "It'll still be here in a couple of hours—I'll even let you pick the movie."

He puts his pen down, then swivels his chair to face me entirely. His lips purse as he ponders my proposition. With my head tilted to the side, my brows slightly pinched, and pleading eyes peeking through my lashes, a tiny frown ties my puppy dog look together. Despite his dithering, I knew he couldn't say no to me. With a heavy sigh, he throws his hands up in defeat.

Sam stands from his seat and mutters, "Fine."

"Yay!" I cheer, already walking towards the kitchen. "I'll grab the snacks while you get the movie ready."

Heading straight towards the shelves, which held all nonperishable foods, I reach for the snacks only Sam and I would consume. I grab the Jiffy Pop popcorn and bring it to the stove. Just as I was about to ignite the burner, the door to the bunker slammed closed. The men's voices carry into the kitchen. My heart flutters at the return of the eldest brother. Self-consciously, I tuck my curtain bangs behind my ears and straighten my clothing.

A light blush rushes to my cheeks, embarrassed about getting this flustered over a man. I wait a few moments, allowing the pinkness a chance to fade. Once the flush subsides, I focus on why I came into the kitchen in the first place. Deciding not to cook the kernels, I leave the gathered food on the island and walk toward the War Room. Dean stood with his arms crossed, listening to his younger brother.

They look underneath the table before Sam says, "You're never gonna believe what we found."

"You showing him the computer?" I ask and get a nod from the younger Winchester.

I follow behind the boys as Sam leads us to the new room we found earlier. He opens the door and flips the light switch, revealing a humongous machine in the middle of the room. It had at least a hundred buttons that lined the board.

"Voilà."

"This is a computer?" asks Dean.

"Yeah—or it was in 1951 when it was installed." We circle to the back of the machine as Sam raises his finger like Velma would often do when talking, continuing our discovery. "Now, here's the crazy thing. It's not plugged into anything. I mean, I have no idea what's making this thing work."

Dean runs his hand along the side of the metal, stopping to say, "It's warm here."

Sam puts his hand where his brother implies, feeling the heat for himself. Dean uses his fingers to open the panel to the computer's back but lucks out. I inspect the shelves of miscellaneous items and find a flathead screwdriver, then hand it to Dean. He takes it and turns around, jamming the tool into the back of the computer. The metal creaks, refusing to open, but he jimmies harder. Suddenly, the panel clatters to the floor, and he stumbles into the wall and shelves behind him.

"Got it." He clears his throat, trying to play it cool.

With the back now open, we squat to see inside. Sam retrieves a flashlight from his rear pocket to illuminate the machine. However, the guts weren’t like any computer I've seen. And judging from their responses, they haven't either.

"Huh." Sam breathes.

"Well, that looks simple. Does it come with a manual?"

"Nothing in the archives, and I obviously couldn't find anything like it online, not to mention I'm pretty sure that the Men of Letters doesn't exactly have I.T. support anymore, either."

"I think I know somebody who could help us," I mention, standing up to fetch my phone. "Come on."

Wordlessly, the boys follow me out of room 28.

Charlie walks into the bunker along with Sam. He holds her duffle bag as they walk down the steps like the gentleman he is. Dean and I call our hello's before getting out of our chairs. She waves and meets us at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thanks for coming," Dean says, hugging her before me.

"Not a problem, especially since I got fired last week," Charlie admits.

"Hey, what?" Sam questions after setting her bag on the Map Table. "What happened?"

"Turns out the company I work for was outsourcing to child labor, so I took a big WikiLeak all over that. And, yeah. It's cool, though. It's given me more time to focus on my hobbies..." Charlie trails off, watching Dean closely. My eyes go wide, knowing what she was going to reveal. I subtly shake my head, trying to prevent her from enduring the same judgment I went through. Ignoring me, she continues, "Like LARPing, Macrame, and hunting."

"Excuse me?" Dean's voice lowers in a dad-like tone. His hands rest on his hips as he peers down at the red-head.

Her arms quickly rise in defense, trying to calm Dean's growing anger. "Okay. It was just a couple little cases. I took down a teenage vampire and a ghost...which sounds like a Y.A. novel if you say it out loud."

"Charlie, how'd it go?" Sam inquires.

"It was, uh..." She glances at Dean, his mouth hung agape in disbelief. Her gaze shifts to me, frowning momentarily before darting to Sam. "It was intense. I had a close friend helping in case anything went sideways. As you can see, I'm fine. But I kind of wish hunting was more...magical, you know?"

"Close friend—who?" Dean inquires urgently, ignoring her last sentence.

I shake my head, hoping my pleading eyes will make her keep my identity a secret. Charlie stares at me, hesitating to answer. Dean follows her eyes and sees my plea before I have a chance to mask it. Fuck. His eyes grew wider before narrowing in anger.

"You knew about this and didn't tell us? Worse—you took her hunting?"

"I didn't take her hunting; She wanted to go herself. So, I offered to assist."

Dean's eyes roll at my response. "You should've changed her mind!"

"I didn't need to do shit. She's a grown-ass woman, Dean! She can make decisions for herself. If she wants to hunt, that's her prerogative."

"She can get herself killed, and the last person who should be teaching her to hunt is you!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask defensively.

"It means you can hardly keep yourself alive."

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Is it? 'Cause it's getting real old having to constantly worry every hunt if that one will be your last. I have enough crap on my plate, and making sure you don't get killed isn’t something I signed up for. God, it’s exhausting. You’re the last person I would ever want on my mind.”

Silence fills the room once his honesty leaves his sharp tongue. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. Was it as bad as it sounded, or was the pain I was feeling heightened by my love for him? His face didn't seem to carry any remorse. Instead, he loomed over me, his annoyance palpable as he peered down with a towering stance.

"Sorry, I've been such an inconvenience for you. Maybe next time I'll die, so you don't have to worry anymore." My words dripped with disgust as I desperately tried to mask the hurt I felt.

I don’t waste another moment in the War Room and in his presence. Ignoring Sam's calls, I storm into the corridor. Anger replaces my pain the closer I get to my room. How dare he say those things. I'm a great hunter! I've been hunting for years; I knew what I was doing. I never took on something I couldn't handle by myself.

In a rage, I slam my door closed. I'm a damn good hunter! I assure myself. Every single one has been close to death, so why was I any different? He goes in guns blazing, too! He doesn't have any regard for his life, and he's made that known on many occasions.

Knowing that my thoughts would only aggregate me further, I grab my wireless headphones from my desk. With the light off, I stumble to my bed and get comfortable as I turn on the set playlist for times like this. I close my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the music and not my fist in Dean's face. As each song played, I felt my anger subside a little more. I can’t be sure how much time has passed, but the frustration rushes back once my headphones get yanked off.

"What the hell?" I yell at the figures towering over me.

"We've got a problem."

Sam, Dean, and I scavenge the halls after they explain what was going on. Dorothy and the Wicked Witch are real, and just so happen to be in the bunker. We wander to the dungeon, instantly greeted with Crowley's whistle rendition of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow.’ The men stroll closer to the King of Hell as I follow behind.

"Wow, if it isn't the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and Dorothy. Well—not the real one, anyway. As for your other new houseguest—so misunderstood." The demon joked, yet no one but him found it amusing. "Either of you saw 'Wicked?'"

"What did she say to you?" Sam demands.

"Something along the lines of..." Crowley trails off before hissing.

"All right, well, I'm gonna go get some holy oil and a lighter, dick bag." Dean chimes in, turning to fetch the items, but stops once the demon starts speaking.

"I know what she's looking for."

"What does she want?" I ask.

"I'd be happy to tell you as soon as I get to stretch my legs."

The younger Winchester nods toward the prisoner, agreeing. With annoyance, Dean moves to fill the King of Hell's request. Sam and I aim our guns in case Crowley tries to pull anything. With one hand, Dean grabs the key out of his pocket to unlock the lock around the metal collar, while the other hand holds the demon blade to the demon's throat as a warning. Dean backs away as the soulless monster happily pries the collar off, chains clattering when he drops it to the table.

"Oh." He chuckles, standing from his seat.

"What does the witch want?" Sam questions.

"Give me a mo. I still need to air myself out." Crowley pushes.

With my gun already raised, I shoot a round into the demon's chest. He looks down at it, physically unfazed. "I think you're aired out enough."

"Rude." He murmurs before picking up the crumbled-up paper from the table to reveal the word: key.

"Key? What key?" Sam presses.

"I haven't the foggiest. Had to send her off on a merry chase before she could melt me." The King of Hell flashes his pearly whites before revealing, "Told her you boys kept the keys in the kitchen. You do have a kitchen in this crap hole, don't you?"

We look at one another before racing to the destination. Once in the kitchen, it was clear it had been ransacked. There wasn't one surface that was left untouched. I groan, knowing I had to clean it later.

"Damn it, I just cleaned in here." Dean sighs in disappointment.

"Really?" Sam rhetorically asks in sarcasm.

Walking down the steps, the Dick of the Day states the obvious, "Looks like we got a witch here."

Someone walks into the other door to the kitchen, and we quickly draw our weapons only to see Charlie and the Dorothy.

"Sorry. We raided your gun range." Charlie extended her arm for us to see what was in her hand. "Made us some poppy bullets. They won't kill the witch, but they will stun the crap out of her."

Dean picks up the casing, examining the bullets. "That's my girl." He murmurs, his eyes lingering on her before seeking a glance at me as his attention shifts to his handgun.

If it weren't for the fight we had earlier, I would’ve been jealous that he’d never complimented me like that once before. Instead, the 'jealousy' turns into more anger. What was it that made him act differently towards me? I wonder.

"There was only enough for five bullets, so...make each shot count."

We load the bullets into our magazines as Dorothy speaks, "Now we just have to find her before she finds whatever the hell she's looking for."

"She's looking for a key." I clarify.

"How do you know?" Charlie inquires.

"Little birdie told us," Sam responds. "Ring any bells, Dorothy?"

"Unfortunately," She replies with dismay. "It's the key to Oz. There are magical ways into Oz—tornado, eye of a hurricane, whirlpool—but this key will turn any locked door into a portal to Oz. Insert key, twist, and presto, you're in Oz."

"How did the Men of Letters get the key?" I question.

"I have no idea, but if she finds it, she'll go back and finish what she started. She'll destroy all that is good in Oz. She's got armies of witches, flying monkeys. Many will die."

"What's this key look like?" Dean interjects.

Dorothy pulls out a journal from the inside of her jacket. We huddle around her as she quickly flips through the beige pages. Finally, she finds the one with information regarding the sought-after key. The top read 'KEEP SAFE' and was written with three exclamation marks. A sketch of the key took up half the page but was perfectly detailed to identify when searching for it.

"I've seen that key." The oldest Winchester confesses. "Found it when I was doing inventory."

"Where is it now?"

"My room. We got to get to that key. All right, Maricela, Charlie, and I will go look in my room." He turns to Sam and finishes, "Why don't you guys buy us some time?"

"I'll go with Sam," I speak dryly, not wanting to be around Dean any longer than I had to. His deep voice utters an 'I don't think so,' to which I roll my eyes. "Oh, right. You don't think I can handle myself, so I can't leave your side."

Without waiting for a comeback, I try storming to his room, but before I can leave the kitchen, his hand grabs my arm, pulling me back. I turn around and snatch my limb back, my eyes narrowing at his touch, daring him to do it again. Sam and Dorothy had left the room, leaving us three. Ignoring my glare, the Winchester’s gaze shifts between Charlie and me as he speaks.

"Safest place in this joint is the dungeon."

"You have a dungeon in this place?" She inquiries, giving me déjà vu. "Of course you do."

"So maybe you two should..." Dean trails off, implying we run from the danger.

Before I speak up, Charlie says, "We are not hiding, especially in a dungeon. Wicked witch, a key, a quest?" She playfully punches his shoulder—had it been me, it would've been rougher and somewhere else. With glee, she declares, "Let's do this."

She pivots and heads towards Dean's room. I turn on my heel and ignore his calls as I walk with Charlie. After giving up, he assigns us corners of his room to scavenge. I rifled through his desk drawers and a box of files he handed me.

"You keep your porn meticulously organized, but not—" Charlie starts to criticize before Dean interrupts.

"Don't judge me." He rifles through a wooden crate before calling out, "Ah! Yahtzee."

Charlie and I face the man who found what we were searching for. Suddenly, she gasps, calling out his name as she stares at the witch behind him. He turns around, and the witch snatches the key from his hand. She backhands his face, knocking him on the bed behind him before he bounces off with a grunt and rolls into the wall. The Wicked Witch pockets the key in her black cloak before raising her right hand towards the Winchester. The power began to gather in her hand, emitting a green glow.

Panicking, I shout, "No!"

Without a second thought, I jump in front of Dean. As I intended, my body shields his, absorbing the blast instead. And in the blink of an eye, I'm in the middle of the woods, the sun high in the sky, as I point a gun at the beer bottles set up ahead.

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[marginofthought]

For anybody who doesn't believe that Dean is abusive towards Sam: here's Sam deep in a coma imagining Dean beating him up in order to make a point.

because a subconscious would surely just randomly whip that up if there wasn't any reason for it, right?

[mvdeanw]

Dean // SPN - 9x18

Dean ( Jensen ) love club: @jillmariej @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @brilovesdeanwinchester @waywardbaby @spnfangirl1314 @shawnie74 @kwistowee @queenofallerdalehall @charred-angelwings @girlshunttoo @adoptdontshoppets @ddriverpicksthemusic @milo-winchester-4ever @wickedinspirations @quicklymybasement @jensensgotyoudean @lequisha @deansraspberrypie @thoughts-and-funnies @raidens-realm @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @eevvvaa @doublebill @avanatural @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @catnipster69 @jerksbitch

[raptor-claw]

wow spn you really had to make a jester outta me huh? had me giggling and kicking my feet thinking gabriel was back only to turn around and spit in my face. i looked like a FOOL!

[five-raccoons-in-a-trenchcoat]

watching supernatural, week 6, part II (13 III 2025)

eps watched: 9x22-9x23

woohooo more of my incoherent rambling yay!!!

only one day cause that's enough for now [season finale oh hell nah (i have been waiting far too long)]

13 III 2025:

9x22: "he is a weird, dorky, little guy" yes he is, that's why we love him // "and Castiel has this simple... charm" yes Metatron, it's called the tism // "and I hate your face" YES SAME, SOMEONE GETS IT // uh oh thats not good // he chose Dean over a whole army of angels. damn. // DEAN

btw im watching this in school so

9x23: oh I wanted to hear this song again SO FUCKING BAD // okay please just kill the son of a bitch already, he fucking annoys me so much // well that's really bad // oh hell nah this fucking piece of shit, please murder him already, I can't // Dean you bastard, stop doing tgat // Gadreel oh shi // bro I love Jensen's acting so much tbh // OH NOT AGAIN 😭😭 WHY DO THEY KEEP DYING, DEAN STOP DYING listen when I said to kill the son of a bitch, I meant Metatron, not Dean // ay okay but who's gonna save the day, cause Dean is dying, Sam is with him and Cas is chained to Metatron's chair and Metatron just pulled out a knife, so tell me, who's gonna save the day? // okay good job Cas // writers stop killing Dean please // what is this music // yall nooo no no no, aint no way the season ends like that // okay yeah I think this ending is worse haha haha yeah // no but genuinely the hell. also Cass thinks that Dean is dead. after doing so much to protect him. have you seen the look on his face. have you. ouch.