#sure dean's dead but he's not dead dead like only kind of dead like half dead

[laurelwinchester]

Dean travelling through time and space and still finding ways to protect people is as close to perfection (without retconning the finale) as it possible. Jensen gets this show and his character on a special level and it makes me very soft.

[dubina-dawkins]

THE LAST TIME

~1k words

>you find out dean is going to die soon. and he wants to spend his last meeting with you well.

warnings/notes: smut, minors dni! set in the 2nd half of the 3rd season, may be kinda angsty, oral (f!receiving), fingering, gn/afab reader, no usage of y/n

REBLOGS WILL BE APPRECIATED!

You were shocked.

Starting from scratch...you and Dean ended on a bad note. Horrible notes. If those notes were put together into a song, it would be the ugliest melody known to man.

You really wanted to help him find his father, you could have - but somehow Dean thought it was too dangerous. Like you two weren't both hunters when you were kids.

But you still forgave him when he hadn't been around for weeks... months. years. You called, and he didn't pick up, changed numbers.

And then you just find out that the Winchesters opened the gates of hell. It was enough to shock you. But it was compounded by the way he and his brother just showed up at your hotel room - they probably found out where you were from Bobby - and in casual fashion just decided to help you with the case. And Dean, as if inadvertently, on your refusal, threw in the fact that he'd be dead in less than six months.

This case wasn't easy, yeah. You've never dealt with real demons before, honestly. Werewolves, vampires, wendigos, ghosts of all kinds-- but no demons. A bunch of demons took over an entire town. You couldn't have done it alone, yes; but with news like this, it was impossible to focus on the case.

Dean could have died so soon, and you still spent those few years just waiting for him. If you wanted to, you would have been there. You could have fixed it-- it tormented you.

"You know, it'd be funny if I died without ever fucking you again."

He said it with a smile, as if it were no business at all. You'd known him for so long that you definitely realized how strained that smile was. On Dean Winchester's smile sincerity scale, which rated a pure and genuine laugh at ten, this smile you rated at one and a half at most.

But you also knew that this distraction...it wouldn't hurt you both, to be honest.

You were cuddling on a decrepit motel bed. Sam is somewhere in the library, trying to find something you haven't found yet. You rest your nose in his hair, resting your hand on his jaw, lifting his head slightly. "I always knew you were a jerk, Winchester, but not this much."

It's his turn to silence your complaints with his lips as he raises his head sharply. And you don't resist at all. Why would you ever resist?

You didn't notice the moment the gentle cuddling turned into something more sultry.

His hands all over your body, as if he was trying to imprint every cell of your body in his head, to memorize every mole and hollow and bulge.

Where before he'd been lying against your shoulder, now you were under him, tangling your fingers in his short hair. There was nowhere to tangle, and yet you were doing it.

"I'm not letting you go. No fucking hell, you're stuck here with me," you whisper in his ear, kissing his temple and cheekbones. Dean can only grin as he moves down to your neck. He knows there's no way out, thanks to Ruby for opening his eyes.

But he doesn't say anything back, just mumbles into your skin about how beautiful you are, how soft you are, how he fucking loves you. Like you don't know that.

A few long moments of his worship of your body, and Dean is already pulling the waistband of your unbuttoned jeans and underwear down with his teeth. A few long moments of his worship of your body, and Dean's teeth are pulling the waistband of your unbuttoned jeans down, along with your underwear, and the black lace falls to the floor along with the denim as he bumps his nose against the inside of your thighs, stopping abruptly.

He inhales your scent and visibly shakes. His breathing is shaky, like he's ready to cry. He knows for sure that the only thing he'll remember in hell is Sam and you.

"Dean?" You call out, gently lowering your hand to caress his cheek and lift his face up by his chin. He rests his head on your stomach and kisses the soft skin, smirking.

"Forget it, baby" And he lowers himself sharply, pouncing on you like he's starving. His tongue first passes from bottom to top, licking away the moisture of your arousal, then flicks the clit a few times until Dean's lips press against it, sucking. Vacuum drives you crazy, that's for sure.

He knows how to do it, and you know it. And over time, he clearly hasn't lost his skills, although your brain pushes the idea that his tongue could be in someone other than you away.

Dean doesn't hold back, he literally whimpers. He missed it as much as you did, maybe more. His thick fingers play with your slit until one middle finger slips into the wet walls, and he literally moans in pleasure.

"Still just as supple," he whispers, sending vibrations through your lower abdomen, the fingers of his free hand stroking your waist and stomach as he returns to your clit and wet folds.

His finger doesn't give you a break; God, his finger alone could replace any toy, honestly. Especially when he pushes the second one in and pauses for a few seconds to make sure you're okay with the shift, but when your hands roughly clutch his hair in your fist, he knows he's doing it right and goes back to the same pace.

You're on the verge of release, of edge--

"Baby, baby, love, let it out, come on..." He growls, encouragingly - but lightly, nonchalantly - spanking your ass. And God, that was the last straw as you squeak his name loudly, clutching his head between your thighs.

But if this was his last sex with you in his life, he wasn't gonna stop so soon.

A/N: unexpected dean winchester smut :D wasn't on my today's to-do list but i needed it. divider made by @bernardsbendystraws .

thx for active on my past works <3

[wandering-winchesters]

Haunted Memories

Summary: In the quiet of the night, you open up to Dean about your past moments that haunt you.

The bunker was quiet, the kind of deep, still quiet that only came in the dead of night. Dean was used to nights like these—restless, with sleep just out of reach. He’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with memories he’d rather forget, thoughts he’d rather not think about. Tonight was one of those nights, so he gave up on sleep and decided to get up, maybe grab a drink, and see if that would help settle his mind.

He padded down the hall, the old wooden floors creaking under his weight, making his way to the kitchen. As he got closer, he noticed a soft glow of light spilling out from the doorway. That was odd. Everyone should’ve been asleep by now.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see you there, sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey in front of you. The bottle was on the table, half-empty, the amber liquid catching the light. You were staring down into your glass, lost in thought, your shoulders tense, your face drawn. You looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it sent a pang through Dean’s chest.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Dean’s voice was soft as he spoke, not wanting to startle you.

You looked up at him, a faint, tired smile playing at your lips. “Yeah,” you replied quietly, your voice sounding as worn out as you looked. “Just… couldn’t shut my brain off.”

Dean nodded in understanding. He’d been there more times than he could count. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “Go ahead.”

Dean grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured himself a drink before sitting down next to you. He didn’t say anything at first, just sipped his whiskey and let the silence stretch out between you. He knew better than to push. If you wanted to talk, you’d talk. If not, well, he’d just sit here with you until you were ready to head back to bed.

But something about the way you were holding yourself, the way you stared down at the table, told him that tonight was different. There was something heavy on your mind, something you were trying to work up the courage to say. Dean waited, giving you the space to find the words.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you let out a long, shaky breath and looked over at him. “Do you ever…” You hesitated, biting your lip before continuing. “Do you ever feel like… no matter how hard you try, you can’t get away from the things you’ve seen? The things you’ve done?”

Dean’s chest tightened at the question. Of course he did. The things he’d seen, the things he’d done—they haunted him every day. But he’d never really talked about it, not like this. He wasn’t sure how to. But he knew you needed to hear something, anything that would let you know you weren’t alone.

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, I do. All the time.”

You nodded, like you’d expected that answer, like it was some kind of relief to hear it. “It’s like… no matter how many good things I do, no matter how many people I save, it’s never enough. Those… those memories, they’re always there, waiting for me. I can’t escape them.”

Dean’s heart ached for you. He knew that feeling all too well. He’d seen it in himself, in Sam, and now, seeing it in you—it hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He didn’t want you to carry that kind of pain, but he knew there was no way to shield you from it. The life they led didn’t allow for that.

“What’s haunting you?” Dean asked gently, his eyes searching yours. He wasn’t sure if you’d tell him, but he needed to ask. He needed to try to help, even if he didn’t know how.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands gripping the glass in front of you like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “There was this… hunt. Before I met you guys. It was bad. Worse than most.”

Dean stayed quiet, his heart thudding in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

“I was tracking this demon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It had taken a family—a mother, a father, and their little girl. I thought… I thought I could save them. I was so sure I could.”

You paused, your voice catching in your throat. Dean could see the pain in your eyes, the raw, unfiltered agony of a memory that had never healed.

“But I was too late,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word. “I got there, and the parents… they were already dead. And the girl… she was still alive, but barely. The demon had… it had tortured her, Dean. And I couldn’t save her. She died in my arms, and there was nothing I could do.”

Dean felt his heart clench, his throat tightening as he listened. He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, the way your shoulders shook as you tried to hold it together. But he knew you couldn’t, not tonight. You’d been carrying this for too long, and it was too much for one person to bear.

You finally let the tears fall, your head bowing as you cried, your body trembling with the force of it. Dean’s instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but he hesitated. He wasn’t sure if that was what you needed, wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched right now. But then you looked up at him, your eyes pleading, and that was all the permission he needed.

Dean scooted his chair closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. Instead, you buried your face in his shoulder, your hands clutching at his shirt as you sobbed. Dean held you tightly, his hand gently rubbing your back, trying to offer what little comfort he could.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered through your tears. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, his heart breaking for you. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You did everything you could. You were there for her. You didn’t let her die alone. That matters.”

But he knew it wasn’t enough. He knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t take away the pain you were feeling. You’d lost someone, a child, and that kind of pain didn’t just go away. It stayed with you, gnawing at you, haunting you in the quiet moments when you were alone with your thoughts.

They stayed like that for a long time, with you crying in his arms and Dean holding you, feeling completely helpless. He wished he could take your pain away, wished he could somehow make it better. But he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was be there, to hold you, to let you know that you weren’t alone.

Eventually, your sobs began to quiet, your breathing evening out as you slowly calmed down. Dean didn’t let go, though. He kept holding you, kept rubbing your back, letting you know he wasn’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red and puffy, your face streaked with tears. But there was a sense of relief there too, like a weight had been lifted, even if only slightly. You wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “I’m here for you, always. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You nodded, offering him a small, tired smile. “I know,” you said quietly. “And that means more than you’ll ever know.”

Dean wanted to say something else, wanted to tell you that he’d always be there for you, no matter what. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” Dean said after a moment, his voice gentle. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to rest.”

You didn’t argue, just nodded and let Dean help you up. He kept his arm around you as he walked you to your room, making sure you were steady on your feet. When you reached the door, you turned to him, that same tired, grateful smile on your face.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you said softly.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice just as soft. He wanted to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he didn’t know what else to say. So he just watched as you slipped into your room, the door closing quietly behind you.

As Dean made his way back to his own room, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d told him, about the pain you’d been carrying for so long. It hurt him to know that you’d been dealing with that on your own, that you’d been haunted by those memories without ever reaching out for help.

Dean knew that he couldn’t take your pain away, but he made a silent promise to himself that he’d be there for you, no matter what. Because you mattered to him more than he could ever put into words, and he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone. Not anymore.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz

[headcaasefiction]

Kinktober 2024

Day 1: Spanking

(Dean Winchester/AFAB!Reader)

Minors Do Not Interact

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3,117

Summary: Y/N fumbles a routine hunt, upsetting Dean, who punishes her accordingly.

Warnings: Spanking, DubCon, Vaginal Fingering.

As far as hunts go, this one should’ve been relatively easy. A vampire nest: estimated to be only four… but you got cocky and let your guard down trying to impress Dean. You were just inches short of having your throat ripped out when a surprise fifth vampire snuck up behind you, and you’d either be dead or an undead monster right now if Dean hadn’t swooped in to save you. Rookie mistake.

“I never should’ve let you come.”

You wince, shame bubbling up in your stomach and throat, making you feel like you are going to be sick. Those words hurt worse than the cut on your shoulder and the bruise on your ribs.

Dean’s face is shadowed with a cold stare, steel jaw clenched tight as he white-knuckles the steering wheel. It was the most he had said to you for the last day and a half since he hauled your dumb-ass out of the nest, half beat and bleeding. He had wordlessly stitched you up in the motel room the two of you shared, never once looking you in the eye. You’ve been curled in on yourself since, tucked close to the passenger’s side door avoiding the urge to look at him.

“I still don’t know what the hell you were thinking,” he continues, as you see him shake his head out of the corner of your eye, “Could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

This is what you have been waiting for, you could feel the tension steadily growing for the last 400 miles, his fuming silent treatment hanging over your head. You knew you were in for the lecture of a lifetime the moment he cut off the vampire’s head that had you in their grasp.

It was supposed to be so simple; a cut and dry hunt, small nest just west of Memphis, two days tops and a short ride into the city for some well deserved food. Dean was adamant on going by himself at first. “I just need a calm job, something I don’t have to think about too much.”

Sam was exhausted and healing a few cuts and bruises from their previous hunt. They had just come back from a week long road trip to Salt Lake City – some kind of witch cult, so he was more than happy to sit this one out, saying he would not like to be riding around the country every waking moment of his life.

This was the perfect opportunity for you to finally have Dean all alone to yourself for once. You had never been on a hunt with just the two of you before, and you had been biding your time for the last five months you had been staying with them at the bunker.

“I’ve actually never been to Tennessee,” you piped up, poking your head into Dean’s bedroom as he packed, “I’ve always wanted to see Memphis, and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone watch your back, even if it’s just a few vamps.”

Dean nodded his head, thinking about your proposal for a moment before deciding, “You know what, sure, why not? I could use the company, and I can take you to the world’s best Hot Chicken that you will ever have in your life.”

Before you knew it you were hauling ass towards Memphis, Led Zepplin blaring on the radio, almost drowning out Dean’s per usual bad singing. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen him so happy. Head tossed back, tapping his palms against the steering wheel singing about “The warmth of your smile” and “The thrill of your touch” and “The light of the love that I found” with that damn smile that made your heart flutter beaming on his face.

You felt on top of the world, cloud nine, the sun shining through your teeth – this was perfect and you didn’t want it to end. Your times alone with Dean have always been brief, Sam never too far away, typically just around the corner. But not this time, for at least a few days you’d have the beautiful green-eyed hunter all to yourself, shared motel room and all.

Of course that all came crashing down the moment you had the brilliant idea of ignoring Dean’s orders to wait for him before entering the room the nest was sleeping in. You had a fantasy of swiftly taking them out as they slept, heads gone before they even knew what hit them, and Dean would come in ready for a fight only to find you already cleaning your blade, as if bored.

“What took you so long?”

And he’d sheepishly grin at you and praise your skills, put his arm around you as he took you out to dinner to reward you for your glowing victory…stupid, stupid rookie mistake.

“I said I was sorry Dean, I thought I could handle it,” you mumble, picking at a hangnail to try and distract yourself from the growing annoyance you feel as he continues his lecture, “We thought there were only four of them –,” but he cuts you off.

“Yeah but there weren’t four, Y/N, there were five! I told you to stay put while I scoped the rest of the place out, but you couldn’t even do that, you just had to barge your ass in there and almost get fucking eaten!”

Your fists are clenched now, almost as tight as Dean’s grip against baby’s wheel, your fingernails pressing little red crescents into the palm of your hand as you try not to match the volume of his voice.

“Well I didn’t get eaten, did I? I appreciate the save, that’s why it’s safer to not be alone on a hunt,” You grit through your teeth, your attempt to de-escalate, “If it was just the four I could’ve handled it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, scoffing, “You could’ve handled it? You couldn’t even handle the one that had you by the throat, Y/N.”

At that, you see red. You jerk to the side, twisting in your seat to face him, your hands balled up in fists, the urge to punch him in his condescending face almost overpowering.

“You’re one to fucking talk, Winchester! I’m so sorry I was trying to make things easier for you. How many times have you fucked up your and Sam’s plans because you decided to be a selfish prick and run off to fulfill some sick need to sacrifice yourself, huh?!”

As soon as the words leave your mouth Dean takes one hard look at you, face scrunched up with fury and slams on the brakes, bringing the Impala to a screeching halt along a lonely stretch of highway. You lurch forward in your seat, momentum pushing you forward tight against your seatbelt, your hands bracing against the dashboard with sudden fear before the car comes to a complete stop.

“What the hell, Dean?!” You yell, trying to steady your breathing and heartrate in an attempt to quell the sharp anxiety welling up.

Dean doesn’t say a word, just puts the car in park and gets out, slamming the door as he exits, causing you to jump a little. You clench your teeth and huff, rolling your eyes. This was just like him you thought, Dean Winchester, can dish it out but he can’t take it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean,” you continue, undoing your seatbelt and throwing your hands in the air, exasperated as you watch him circle around the hood of the car, “Me almost getting killed by a vampire doesn’t really matter if you’re going to kill us both in a goddamn car accident! What is your problem? I already feel bad enough as it is, you could get off my fucking back about it - Dean wait – WAIT! What the fuck?!” You scream as he throws the passenger side door open, grabbing your wrist with brutal force before yanking you out of the car, “What the hell are you doing?!”

He manhandles you to the side of the road as he opens the backseat door, completely ignoring your protests and how you attempt to pull and tug away from him to get your arm back, his grip bruising into your wrist with every movement.

“Teaching you some manners, sweetheart.”

“Teaching me what?!”

He slides onto the leather upholstery in the backseat, bracing his foot on the body of the car and grabbing your other wrist to pull you in with him. You attempt to twist out of his arms but his strength and leverage out weigh you, and you tumble in across his lap face down.

“What the fuck, Dean! Let me go!” You shriek, extending out one of your now free arms to push yourself off of him, feet kicking wildly, but to no avail. He takes your other arm and pins it behind your back, then wraps his other arm around your legs to keep them still.

“You keep moving around like that, you’re just going to make things worse for yourself.”

You have nowhere to go, nowhere to move to as you continue to squirm in vain, your face flushed red with humiliation while your one free arm flails against the seat. You’re completely vulnerable, your soft cotton short-shorts riding up to show off the plush curve of your ass, your oversized T-shirt sliding up to reveal your back and lack of bra. You know he can see everything and it makes you want to cry.

Eventually you give up, lying slack in his arms while trying to catch your breath, hissing at the slight twinge of pain from your bruised ribcage.

“Are you done?” He asks, tone blunt, grip still strong against your aching limbs, “I know your shoulder and ribs are a little fucked up, I’m not trying to make that worse.”

“Then…then what are you trying to do?” You question softly, unable to hide the concern in your voice.

“I’m trying to send a message, Y/N,” he says, before suddenly releasing your legs and rubbing his hand up the back of your thigh and onto your ass, making you go rigid, “Your behavior on the hunt; not following my orders, almost getting yourself killed, and the comment you just made about me, all because you don’t want to fess up about just how in the wrong you are, is completely out of line.”

If you thought breathing was difficult before, it now felt like you had never used your lungs in your entire life. It’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying, he sounds almost far away, like he’s underwater. His hand is burning a hole through you, icy-hot shivers spark through your skin as a wave of warmth rolls through your stomach.

“And when brats get out of line, they need to be punished accordingly.”

Before you can say anything, before you can even think about what he is going to do to you, his hand leaves your backside for a moment and then comes down hard with a resounding SMACK on your right cheek. You cry out in shock and pain, a sharp sting spider-webbing across your sensitive flesh while your brain tries to play catch up with the position you are actually in.

“If you’re going to be part of the team, part of us, then you need to start listening to me, Y/N.”

His hand comes down again on your other cheek, but then in rapid succession he lands three more, lightning fast and more forceful than the first two. The pain blooms instantly, punching the air out of your lungs. You try to struggle again, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the tips of your ears burning hot. It’s no use, the moment you start to squirm once more, he begins his onslaught, alternating between hard slaps on your thighs and both cheeks of your ass.

“I was lenient with you in the beginning,” he says in between strikes, ignoring how you are now freely sobbing into the crook of your unconfined arm as he spanks you blood red, “But I have clearly not shown you who is really in charge here.”

“P-please, I’m sorry!” You managed to gasp out while choking on your own tears, “Please Dean I’ll do anything you say!”

He stops momentarily and harshly exhales, giving a hard suck to his teeth as if you have angered him even more, and after a brief pause, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and roughly pulls them down.

You think you feel your soul leave your body as you are completely stripped of the remaining modesty and dignity you have left. All you can do is whimper at the sensation, and try to shove down the feeling, that when all was said and done, this was actually turning you on.

He continues your punishment, dealing out quick sharp smacks on your completely bare ass, watching the red bloom across your flesh, “You’ll do anything I say? Where was that attitude back at the vampire’s nest, huh? You’ll do anything but actually listen to me when you could be in danger, is that it?”

Your head is spinning, you’re seeing stars and every time his palm connects with your skin it feels like you are being struck by lightning. You can still feel your hot tears pouring down your face and neck, but also the warm wetness spreading between your thighs at every blow he lands.

“No! Please Dean, please! I was trying to impress you, only ever did it because I desperately want to impress you! I just want you to like me!”

That makes Dean pause, releasing your arm from behind your back. For a moment the only sounds are the two of you panting in unison, your heart beating against it’s cage, threatening to burst out as the pain throbs and pulses along your skin.

You bury your face against the leather seat, hopelessly humiliated at your confession. You admitted your crush, and you admitted it face-down, bare-assed, across his lap in the back of his car after you royally fucked up what was almost supposed to be a mini-vacation. Rookie mistake. And you’re almost sure he hates you, is disgusted by you, is going to drive you back to the bunker, tell Sam what happened and then promptly kick you out…but then Dean breaks the silence.

“Y/N…I already like you,” he murmurs, his hand finally soothing over your red-swollen skin, up the curve of your ass, finally comforting you as your body shakes and quivers from his harsh punishment, “That’s why I couldn’t stand it if you ever got seriously hurt on my watch.”

Those words steal your breath away again, butterflies dancing in the warm waves of sensation that lap through your belly, that echo I already like you, I already like you.

His touch is now soft and gentle while he traces over the light purple bruises that are starting to form across your backside, speckled up each cheek and down to the backs of your thighs. His fingertips linger there while he massages you, taking the pain away as you realize he is inching ever closer to your dripping center.

“Dean...?” You twist around as much as you could to try and look at him, your eyes shining with need and curiosity. What you find is his bright green eyes blown wide, darkened with hunger staring back at you.

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, breathing in deeply, fingers so close you can feel the heat radiating off of them, “If you follow my orders, like a good girl, no one gets hurt, and I even give rewards for good behavior.”

With a tender motion, his middle fingertip glides along your slick entrance, then up and over your clit, causing you to cry out as rapid ecstasy washes over you. You think this must be a dream.

“Dean, Dean…”

Before long he’s pumping two thick fingers into you, his other hand threaded through your hair as his thumb softly caresses your temple. You’re a whimpering, mewling mess as you cry out in time with the thrust of his hand, obscene wet noises filling the air. You hide your face in your arms once more, not wanting him to see how flushed you are from the embarrassment of knowing your pussy is leaking all over his jeans.

His expert fingers bully you effortlessly, hitting the spongy spot inside you that makes you see stars every time he enters your cunt. The warm knot continues to tighten in your stomach, pleasure singing in your veins as you arch your back, ass in the air, thighs spread as wide as you can manage without falling off the seat.

“Mmmm, good girl,” he whispers, withdrawing his drenched fingers and rubbing glossy circles over your clit.

You’re incredibly close, his continuous movements keeping you on the cusp, the knot ready to snap. And just before you are ready to cross over the edge, tingling heat encasing your body from head to toe… he stops.

“Deeeaaann…” You whine before biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut, overwhelmed, “That’s not fair!”

He chuckles, threading a hand through your hair once more and soothing the other over your back before helping you to sit up and face him, “I said I give rewards for good behavior.”

Quickly he leans in and kisses you as if he were starving, licking along your bottom lip and giving it a little nip when he pulls away, making you shiver with want.

“But you called me a good girl,” you pout, pressing your foreheads together while your fingers intertwine. You’re seated directly on his lap now, and you can feel how hard his cock is straining against his jeans. Playfully you wiggle your ass, grinding down on him, “I promise I’ll do whatever you say.”

That makes him groan, but instead of unzipping his pants and fucking you into the backseat, he hands you your crumpled up shorts and panties.

It makes your heart sink for a moment until he tells you, “You have a lot of making up to do, sweetheart, but you can do that back at the bunker, in my room.”

You flush, and your heart flutters as you nod enthusiastically, shifting over to the empty side of the seat so you can slip back into your shorts, “Will you just…will you promise not to tell Sam, please?”

He smirks, leaning over to kiss your neck, “Yes, as long as you stop putting yourself in danger just to impress me. Otherwise you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

Main Masterlist

[rawrsatthetree]

I think the best way to tackle a Modern AU for BG3 isn’t to make it a slice of life but to some how combine the elements of a collage drama, organized crime, a dooms day cult, and an alien invasion all into one coherent plot.

I do not know how to do this but I do have some ideas. All the characters have no reason to associate with each other until they’re all abducted by aliens, wormed, and released back into the wild like a bird that just got tagged. Everyone kind of writes it off as either a bad trip or a dream until the cross paths and the worm does the connection thing. Eventually bringing them all together with a few people investigating the invasion to get to the bottom of what’s happening.

Wyll is a pre law student mostly against his will to appease his dad. He wants to help people but doesn’t necessarily want to be a cop like his father the chief of police. He half asses his classes because he doesn’t have much passion for them, blowing them off to volunteer in clubs and community outreach programs. I think Mizora should be either a professor, Dean of students, or academic advisor. In exchange for favors she alters his grades pushes him through the system. Little does he know she’s also idk involved with a crime organization and her favors go from small and perverted to slowly becoming more dangerous and criminal. He’s young and she has a lot of power over his future and could even expose him as a fraud and an accomplice to his father so he feel helpless to defy her.

Astarion is a law school drop out but that’s old news. You’ll find him prowling the local bar and club scene looking for potential clients. After a string of bad luck and poor life choices he’s a prostitute and drug dealer for a local gangster in the Black Hand gang only known as The Vampire (I know I’m so creative). Cazador’s deal is still the pretty much the same local rich public figure is secretly a very cruel and evil man who uses fear and addiction to control his underlings.

Karlach worked as muscle for the leader of the Black Hand gang before she was forcibly sold and enlisted as a mercenary over seas. After a ten years fighting in foreign years she’s back and ready to get her revenge on the whole Black Hand cult unfortunately she has to do it quickly because (ok idk I tried doing some research and couldn’t find any condition caused by an injury that can suddenly become fatal idk maybe cancer from a bullet or shrapnel)

Gale isn’t a professor but like a doctorate student on a tenure track, but bordering on the mad science kind of research. He’s in an abusive relationship with his over seeing faculty Mystra. Ultimately a lab accident during his research leads to the orb.

I think Lae’zel should still be an alien. She was abducted on another planet and escaped while the earthlings were being tadpoled. Now she’s stranded and tadpoled on a strange planet.

Halsin is a university professor and a local environmental activist. He’s been investigating strange occurrences and is onto the alien invasion thing.

I’m honestly not sure about Shadowheart. She should definitely be college age. But I’m not sure how to approach the shar thing.

Not sure about Minthara either except maybe military turned death cult member.

Jaheira and Minsc are cops investigating the alien invasion I’m so sorry not like real world cops but like fun fictional cops that only exist in movies. Boo is their police dog. OMG wait no they’re Park Rangers!!

Other stuff

The dead three chosen are instead three gang leaders. Except Bhaal cult also doubles as a murder cult still on top of being a criminal organization.

The alien invasion is still the mind flayer grand design.

I don’t think the dead three are controlling the mind flayers this time. Instead they’re using the strange alien invasion occurrences as grounds to start a dooms day cult or maybe they are idk

[kaleldobrev]

Coming & Going

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Witch!Reader

Summary: You want Dean to stay, but will he?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Fluff, Vulnerable!Dean, Angst

Authors Note: No cursing for once! Not sure how I managed to do that! | Takes place pre-pilot, during season 5 and the season 5 finale | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

October 2005 — New Orleans, Louisiana

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, your voice sounding of disappointment. You were currently lying on top of Dean, chest to chest with him as your hands cupped his face and his arms were resting on your lower back, wrapping them around your waist slightly.

He gave you a half smile, almost as if he was disappointed himself that he had to leave. “Sorry Sweetheart, I have to,” his tone sounded faintly similar to yours.

You had known Dean barely two weeks, as he only came to New Orleans to work a case in your neck of the woods: The French Quarter to be exact. Your former mentor and friend had gotten corrupted, a certain kind of darkness consumed her; no longer doing witchcraft for good but for evil and out of scorn. At first you didn’t want to think it was her, as you only had the fondest of memories of her, but the people that were dying were her former mentees, your peers — and you were going to be added to that list of the dead if it weren’t for Dean.

“Just sorry uh?” You asked, hoping that he would say more but he simply shrugged. “Don’t you shrug at me Dean Winchester,” you smirked, leaning in and giving him a tiny peck on the lips that he quickly deepened. His hands now cupping the side of your face now.

Breaking away from the kiss he looked at you, smiling and moving some hair that had fallen in front of your face. “You’re beautiful you know what?” He said, and you could feel yourself blushing.

“Careful, it sounds like you’re falling in love with me,” you teased.

“And what if I am?” He asked, his tone coming off more serious sounding than yours had been.

“I’d say you’re crazy,” your tone still coming off slightly teasing in nature.

“To be fair I am a hunter Sweetheart. You need to be a little crazy to be one,” he replied and you honestly couldn’t help but agree with him.

“It’s always the crazy ones who fall for me,” you said, giving him another quick peck before lying down on your back next to him. “Seriously though, think I’ll ever see you again?”

“Careful Sweetheart, it sounds like you might be falling in love with me,” he teased.

“And what if I am?” You asked, turning your head to face him.

He turned to face you, and there was a certain look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “I’d say you’re lying.”

“And why do you say that?” You weren’t in love with him, not completely anyway, but you did feel something for him; but you weren't quite sure what this feeling was.

“Does it matter? I’ll probably never see you again. Hunters never go to the same town twice.” His voice sounded more confident sounding now, very detached of any emotion that he had previously, it was as if he was afraid of being vulnerable.

“It’s okay to talk about your feelings you know,” you stated.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he retorted, and you rolled your eyes. “What?”

He changed positions, switching to his side propping himself up with his elbows on your mattress as you started to get out of bed. The sounds of your feet were smacking hard on the wood — you were pissed. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice coming out passive aggressive sounding now. “You’re right, no need to talk about things if I’m never going to see you again right?”

“Sweetheart —”

“It’s Y/N,” you grabbed your robe that was hanging on the back of your door and placed it around you as you made your way to your on-suite bathroom to take a shower and wash away any feeling or smells of Dean off of you as quickly as possible. “You can show yourself out right?” You asked walking into the bathroom. You dropped your robe, and it was now a puddle on the floor. You were just out of view enough for Dean to just see the robe, not your naked form.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and you shut the bathroom door.

5 Years Later…

You were currently in your kitchen crushing up herbs using your mortar and pestle; the sweet smells of lavender and honey filling the air. There was a beautiful breeze coming in through the open window; additional smells wafted into the house as well (mainly the smells of Cajun cooking).

You heard a knock at your door and you thought about who it could possibly be at this hour of the night, as all your scheduled clients had came and went for the day, your shop already closed for the day as well. Putting down your pestle you washed your hands quickly and started making your way toward the door. The longer you took the more aggressive and loud the knocking had started to become. “I’m coming I’m coming!” You yelled.

Reaching for the doorknob you couldn’t help but notice a familiar silhouette and the smell of gunpowder. It was two things you never thought you’d ever see or smell again. Opening the door the green eyed semi-stranger looked at you, and he looked completely drained and void of energy. “Never thought I’d see you again,” you said, your voice coming out a lot calmer than you had expects it to sound. “What are you doing here? You have a case?”

“Mind if I come in?” He asked, his voice too sounding calm. His energy was different, it was nervous, scared, confused all things you never expected to feel from him.

“Sure,” you nodded, stepping aside to let him inside.

“So let me get this straight,” you started rubbing your face, trying your best to process the information that Dean had just given you. “You’re the vessel of the Archangel Michael, Sam is the vessel of the Archangel Lucifer and the two of you are supposed to do this battle to the death.”

“More or less,” Dean said, more casually than you had expected him to sound.

“So question,” you began.

“Shoot,” he answered.

“I don’t mean to sound rude Sweetie but…what does this have to do with me?” You asked, and Dean found himself slightly smiling at the nickname; it was something he hadn’t heard you call him in almost five years. “I haven’t seen you or even heard from you in five years and we didn’t necessarily leave things on the best terms.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, sounding slightly frustrated. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re…you’re sorry?” You scoffed, finding his apology hard to believe. “It’s been five years, I feel like the apology ship has sailed.”

“I know you probably want nothing to do with me anymore but,” he got up from the couch that he was sitting in across from you and moved to sit next to you. “You’re the only person I’ve been thinking about for years, the only person who…”

“Phones exist Dean. You could have just picked up the phone and called me,” you stated.

“Would you have picked up the phone if I called?" Touché. "That's what I thought," he looked away from you for a moment, slightly rubbing his face before placing his hands on his knees. "I shouldn't have never come here." He got up quickly, his voice frustrated as he started making his way toward the door.

"So that's it?" You asked, getting up from the couch. His hand was on the doorknob, and he looked at you briefly, some hesitation in his expression.

"What?" He asked; he sounded annoyed.

"You haven't changed in five years Dean. The minute we start talking about feelings or being vulnerable you clam up." You stated, moving closer to him now, you were a few feet away from him.

"You don't think I know that?" His tone angry, angrier than you've ever seen him. "You don't think it pisses me off that I have a hard time talking about my feelings?" He looked down at you, the two of you inches away from each other now.

"Dean," you began. "You weren't joking five years ago were you?"

That's when his expression changed, it softened. "About what?" He knew exactly what you were talking about, how could he possibly forget? It might of been two weeks, but it was one of the best two weeks he had in a real long time.

"Being in love with me," your voice was slightly hesitant, almost as if you were embarrassed to say it, despite knowing deep down that you were right. He simply just looked at you, and you reached out for his hand, taking it in yours. "Dean." The look in his eyes now, the feelings that you were getting from him — this man was still in love with you, even after all these years.

"What if I said yes?" He asked, his tone too was hesitant sounding, but he echoed the same words as he once did all those years ago.

"I'd say what took you so long?" You gave him a soft smile, your hands now fisting his shirt as you looked up at him. He looked down at you, giving you a similar smile in return and cupped your face.

"You know, you're the only witch I've ever liked," he whispered before leaning in and kissing you.

A Few Months Later…

You were sitting in your living room putting together the last of your spell bags that you sold in your shop, the smell of roses wafted gently in the air from the candles you had lit throughout the house; soft jazz playing.

A light knocking came at your door, and you had an overwhelming feeling of anxiety crash into you; the smell of gunpowder now hitting your nose. "Dean..." you whispered; it could only be him, as he was the only one that had smelt that way to you.

Getting up from your spot on the couch you made your way to your front door, that familiar silhouette in the shadows of your porch. A sorrowful smile hit your lips as some dread starting hitting into you — a feeling that worried you. Something bad happened, you thought. Opening the door Dean stood there, not saying a word; he looked drained, like he had lost a battle. But if he was the one standing here that could only mean..."Sam he's..."

"In the pit," Dean said. You weren't entirely sure what that meant but you didn't want to press further as you could feel and see the extreme sense of loss. Without a warning that's when he moved toward you, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace. The embrace was tight, like he was making sure you were real.

You started rubbing his back and gently started to hum, hoping that it would soothe him in some way. "I'm here," you said softly between hums.

"Can I stay here for a while?" He began, his voice sounding as if it was about to break. "I don't...I don't want to hunt anymore not without...I can't do it without him." You didn't need clarification on who Dean was referencing, you knew that he was talking about Sam.

"You can stay here as long as you want," the words fell from your lips with such certainty, without any kind of hesitation.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @mrsjenniferwinchester If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[ocearin]

cruising — dean winchester

content / you and dean get in a fight when she starts getting angry for no reason.

warnings / transfem!dean winchester, internalised homophobia, John hates his kids, angst, implied smut.

“C’mon, De.” You frown, moving closer on the bed. Sam was out getting dinner so you and Dean had the motel room all to yourselves. You even kissed Sam’s cheek goodbye to ask him if he can take Baby out for a few spins. Thankfully he agreed, but now Dean’s rejecting your advances. Since when?

“No! I already told you, the walls are too damn thin in here.” Your patience is running thin. Seriously since when does the infamous Dean Winchester care about the staff knocking your door? Or some angry neighbors? Dean once fucked you in the Imapala on a highway, you’re not sure that’s the real reason.

“You’re lying to me, honey.” Her face visibly softens at your words but she stands up anyways, taking off her jacket. You’d all got back from the successful hunt hours ago and showered but somehow Dean had wrapped herself in Sam’s jacket the second she came out of the shower. It was confusing now that she’s taking it off. This whole thing was confusing. 

“Dean, look, I’m not pressuring you or anything, but you’re lying to me. You love post-hunt sex. You’re the one who always initiates it too so I thought I’d give you a surprise, you know? But if it isn’t what you want, I understand—”

“It’s not like that!” You’re waiting for her to elaborate and when she doesn’t, you sigh. Great, you’re both getting nowhere in this conversation. “I’m going out.” She mumbles before walking out of the motel room and slamming the door behind her. 

Another very stable, very productive conversation in the Winchester household. You tie your hair back and put a coat on before running out after her. Baby isn’t anywhere near here so the only other place she’d be is the vending machine. It’s kind of like trying to find a twelve year old in an arcade. 

There she is, in all her glory, frowning at the vending machine like it’s personally offended her (you’re sure all it did was its job, but oh well). “Hey, Dee.” You sigh into the space between you when you’re close enough to touch her biceps, interlocking your arm in hers. ”you okay?”

“‘M fuckin’ peachy.”

“What you are is mean.” You scoff, but it’s only half hearted. You want to help her, not blame her. “And you’re also a big liar who won’t tell me what’s wrong so I can make it better.”

“You’re not my damn guardian, you don’t need to know—”

“Please, Dean.” You exhale, tired. “Just humor me.”

She seems to have finally given up on her quest to be unbearing. “Whatever. You just— I don’t want to have sex, okay?”

“Totally understandable, can I know why? I won’t try to change your mind, I would just like to know the reason.”

She rolls her eyes, hits the vending machine one more time so a chocolate bar drops down along with your favorite juice box. When you’re twenty something, you learn to enjoy the finer things in life like juice boxes and chocolates rather than beer and whatever the hell else.

She leans down to grab them, hands you yours. You thank her with a kiss on her arm. “Baby.” It comes out like a plea more than a warning. 

“You do this thing.” She mumbles, looking down at her chocolate bar to open it. Your heart clenched before she could even keep going, an ugly emotion tugging on your chest. You do this thing? 

Sure, you’re new to the whole relationship thing as a hunter and especially with Dean. Dean’s… not what you expected at all when you first saw her. You didn’t even know she was a her until very very later on. Even Sam found out later than you. She somehow feels like she doesn’t deserve to be called that, like her dad would kill her and if he wouldn’t approve she can’t possibly do it behind his back. 

But John can go fuck himself for all you care (he’s dead anyways so it isn’t like he can object), you love Dean. She deserves everything in this world and the next— she fucking died for her brother, it’s unreal that she would think she doesn’t deserve the simple act of being who she truly is.

“Hey? Hey, you with me? Sweetheart?” You focus back on Dean with a small pout you didn’t notice was on your face till now. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Oh, uh, you just say this thing— you call me something and I don’t know, just don’t think—”

“Dean, if I have ever made you uncomfortable during sex you have to tell me. I can’t believe you’d ever keep that from me.” Dean’s a pretty soft lover, you’d learned quickly, while she does enjoy to get with every woman she laid eyes on before she had you, she isn’t rough with them, she’ll make sure they’re ready first, very giving, and take her time. 

You can’t possibly think of anything you’d do to make her not want to sleep with you… you’re pretty sure you’re the first person in her life she’s ever been fully transparent with and you thought that’s a good thing, you thought you handled it pretty well, but maybe you were wrong.

She clears her throat, still not looking you in the eye, the wrappers off the chocolate but it’s clear she’s using it as a distraction, “you, uh, call me stuff. Stuff like, i don't know, pretty girl or whatever.”

Oh.

“Oh. I’m—” God, you feel like an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot for ever assuming she’d be okay with pet names. She’s just as new to this as you are, you’re the first person she’s ever expressed herself with and you’re ruining it for her. You need air. Even if you’re outside— fuck. “Dean, I’m sorry, I had no idea you didn’t like it and you should’ve told me the first time!” Though, you’d only slept together a handful of times since she’s come out to you, “I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable and I’m so sorry I did—”

Her face contorts as she shakes her head, waving her hand around, “‘s fine.” She dismisses and you can practically feel how red your cheeks are with shame. So fucking stupid. For embarrassing her. For making the one thing she always made sure was comfortable for you, unenjoyable for her. Dean won’t die without sex but she fucking loves it and, you ruined it for her. 

“Sorry, Dean.” You mutter again before turning around and running back to your room. This is all— way too much, is what is it. You can’t think properly with her standing right in front of you not looking you in the fucking eyes. She’s the Dean Winchester. Forget the sexy reputation, what about the hunter one?  She’s never acted like this before and now it’s because of you. 

She trusted you with the most important thing in her life, her identity, and you—

A loud, aggressive knock sounds on the door and your hand instantly hovers over your gun. It happens one more time before you have it aimed at the door, waiting for the intruder to come in, drying the tears that were welling up in your eyes. “Come in!”

“I would, don’t have the key though.” 

Oh, it’s Dean. You put the weapon back where it belongs (though you keep a hand on it in case you need it) before opening the door. “Hey, sweetheart.” She says sweetly, her smile kind of watery. Is that because of you too? Great. You’re doing real well in the girlfriend department.

“Hi, sorry, I totally forgot I had it.” 

“‘S fine, don’t worry about it.” She shuts the door behind her, her back against the wood as she looks down on you. You’re about to pull away from the whole interaction, say you’re tired or something, before she pulls you back in, both hands on your waist. “Hey, c’mon, it’s okay, we’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, I didn’t, didn’t mean to make you think we weren’t. I’m just— disappointed in myself, I guess. And sad. You should’ve told me, I’ve said it a hundred time since you first came out and I didn’t even think of how it would affect you. You know how much I love calling you different things and I don’t know, I guess it slipped out and it was so selfish—”

“I love it.”

“What?”

“The names? Love them. All of them. Every single thing you call me makes me stop breathin’ for a second ‘cause I can’t believe how goddamn lucky I am to have you.” You're breathing’s not supposed to be this fast, right? “It makes me… God, makes me crazy thinkin’ of you saying those words but I can’t, sweetheart, okay? As much as I love ‘em, they’re not— me. They’re not who I am.”

“Because you don’t feel like that’s who you are or because of the whole ‘you don’t deserve’ them thing because I’m telling you now, if it’s the second one, I’m going to be really mad at you.” When she doesn’t respond, tightens her lips, you frown. “Dean, seriously?”

“Look—”

You don’t let her get the words in before you’re crashing your lips onto hers, your hands running through her hair while she kisses you back just as passionately, just as hard and wanting. She pushes off the door to slam you into it so she’s more in control, like she always is. “Dee,” you whisper into her lips and she pulls back with an urgent nod, all signs of hesitation erased from her eyes. “I love you.”

And maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, she’s not usually the type of girl and you know that, but she has to hear it. Has to hear it from you. “Love you so so much, dee. You know that, right?” She nods quickly like she wants the conversation to be over so she attaches her lips back onto yours before you pull away again.

“So tonight’s ‘bout you, pretty girl.” Her breath hitches and you see her eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you stand on your toes to kiss between them. “Baby, I’m not gonna let you keep thinking that crap. No one on earth deserves this more than you, okay? And if you feel uncomfortable, or you change your mind, sure, we’ll stop, but it sure as hell won’t be because of your screwed up perception of yourself.”

She nods, almost mezmorized and leans back in. Her soft lips against yours, so fucking beautiful and the way her fingers work delicately to remove your shirt, succeeding as she moves on to the bra straps. Despite the same hands hunting monsters and sometimes the devil himself, she’s so patient and soft with you, her little moans as your hand moves down to graze her clothes cock, her green orbs flashing you when she opens her eyes to tell you ‘bed’ as if you didn’t just say that you’re in change tonight.

Technically, you did say it’s about her, and if the way she likes it is by being in control, you don’t mind givin’ it to her one bit. As long as you get to praise her all the way through it. 

She kisses down your neck, biting down a little on your sensitive areas, earning moans that make you arch your back, mostly try for some friction. She smiles against your skin, moving further down till she gets to your bra, removes it completely and latches onto your nipple, “fuck, dee, yes. so pretty, so gorgeous for me, makin’ me feel good, ah!” She takes your other one between her fingers and you can’t help the sounds escaping you. She pulls away to tsk. 

“Keep quiet, sweetheart. Wasn’t jokin’ about those thin walls.” Unfortunately for you, by thin she means you can hear the teenage boy and his parents talking through the wall right behind you. So, it’s practically a closet door between the two rooms but you couldn’t care less. And she seems to only care to shut you up with her mouth.

Except she doesn’t. She comes back up, your skin itching with her sudden withdrawal. Before you can protest she has her thumb sit king your lips, “now, sweetheart, what’d I say?” 

“I need to be quiet.” She smirks down at you, nodding, waiting for you to continue, “‘nd I wasn’t quiet.”

“Mm,” she brushes her thumb against your lips one more time before she slips it past them, your teeth grazing it before she lays it flat on your tongue and your first instinct is to bring your hands up to her wrist, wrapping around it to keep her in place, and sucking. “Fuck, baby.”

She groans, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead then going back to your neck, pulling all kinds of pretty moans. 

+

Needless to say, the night turns out great, no thanks to her communication skills. And you tell her as much when you’re both relaxing on the bed after, you’re still catching your breath in her arms and she’s smiling down at you, plants one last kiss to your hair.

“You know this could’ve all been easily avoided if we’d just talked, right?” She huffs from above you and it’s quite painfully the most obvious reaction she’s ever had. Dean’s angry. Maybe not at this exact moment, and not burning red, but she is. She’s not comfortable in her own skin most of the time and it’s no longer because she hasn’t come out, it’s because she did. 

She did, she has people who love and support her and she can’t stand that. She thought the second she came out with you and her brother would flee the country and maybe boo at her, but the fact that you both stayed eats at her more than she’d ever admit— she feels like a fraud. A failure as an older sister— older brother. 

And what’s worse is that she knows she’s as transparent as glass with you, that you’re reading her every thought right now without even looking her in the face. “Dean, c’mon, honey, you can’t keep thinkin’ like this— or I mean, technically you can, free will and all, but I’d rather you not.” You don’t repeat the three words you want to so desperately say, you know she’s reached her quota on chick-flicks. “I’m gonna keep calling you these names because you like them. And because they make you feel like yourself and I simply do not care what you say after that.”

She has nothing to say anyways, just closes her eyes and rests her head on yours, hoping you’ll still be there in the morning.

difference for me between calling transfem Sam and Dean pretty girl and them freaking out is that Sam (as always) is self deprecating and doesn’t feel like she deserves that. She doesn’t feel pretty and she doesn’t feel like she deserves having someone she loves lying to her. For dean, although she’s pretty self deprecating herself, it’s mostly about John. Like most of where her trauma stems from, she can’t understand why the person she loves would ever say that to her knowing it’s not right and it’s unclean to be anything other than the biggest guy in the room. And sure she came out, and shes comfortable with you and Sam and maybe she’ll even tell cas one day, but she values her reputation above all because that’s what John taught her. Thanks for listening  to my Ted talk, please buy a cookie on your way out!!!

[kayleighwinchester]

Long Story

((Oh my god, I meant to post something on the 3rd and the 4th for @artyandink's Jensen-a-Thon and life just said 'mmm, no' - but here we are, my second entry! Another Dean x Reader! This can be read separately of Rocks and Rom Coms, but does follow the same reader insert, so they can definitely be read together! More coming soon! I swear to God, if this turns into an actual series... TW for mild mentions of injuries/blood.))

He had a key to your house.

Dean Winchester was one of three people (besides yourself, of course) that had a key: your mother, who lived across the country, over a day’s drive away in sunny, humid Florida; your best friend, who only really came over to your place for your once-monthly girls’ night; and Dean Winchester, who never, ever actually used the thing, preferring, god only knew why (he claimed it was more “romantic, or somethin’”, his exact words, not yours), to come in your bedroom window.

It was stupid, and maybe even a little dangerous – the half-dead tree he used to actually get up to the second story was one good thunderstorm away from falling, and the house itself was so old that you swore it was held together with duct tape and way too many instances of you calling your grandfather, who had built the house before your mother was even born, for advice and willing the house to stay in one piece.

With that in mind, you were thoroughly confused when, in the middle of the night, as you were making yourself a snack in the kitchen, you heard a key in the lock – or, well, the key missing the lock and hitting the door several times, and then finally making its way into the lock properly.

Even drunk, your best friend would have called first, even though, with how much of a struggle it had clearly been to get the key into the lock, she was your first thought. Your mother had just sent you vacation photos from her trip to California, which was even further from you than Florida. That left Dean – and the fact that he was using the front door at all left an uneasy feeling in your stomach. It was a clear break from a routine you’d established and held to for almost a year now, no matter what the weather was when he showed up at your window.

You turned, let your weight rest against the kitchen counter for a moment as you gathered your thoughts, and then pushed off of it, moving for the entryway. 

“Y/N? You home?” Dean sounded decidedly not good, and you picked up your pace just slightly, rounding the side of the staircase, and – oh. Dean looked decidedly not good too, though as he saw you he stubbornly straightened up, tried to smile (it looked far more like a grimace) and kicked the door closed behind him. He wasn’t entirely able to hide the way his weight pressed back against it.

“What happened to you?” You breathed out as you drew closer. You didn’t know much about what Dean did when he wasn’t with you – you assumed he had some kind of job, even if it seemed like a pretty shitty one – he showed up bruised and sore and stiff more often than not, but this was far worse than that. There was a bruise already turning a deep shade of purple above his eyebrow, and there was a slightly distant, foggy look on his face. You were willing to bet money he was concussed.

“Long story.” Was all he offered in response, slowly pushing himself off of the door. You didn’t pry – you never did – just reaching out to steady him. There was a mild limp in his gait, one that favored his left side, and you offered a grimace of your own. You weren’t sure he’d make it up the stairs, so you half-dragged him to the couch instead. He dropped down to the cushions with a groan, green eyes closing – if you couldn't see the pain he was in, it might have almost seemed cute, like he was just sinking down into a particularly comfortable seat. You knew better, in any case – the couch was easily the least comfortable piece of furniture you'd had the misfortune of owning. The couch wasn’t comfortable – he was just hurting. You knew that feeling well enough – the point where anything mostly horizontal and not entirely covered in bees was comfortable enough.

He didn’t stay down for long though – in fact, he was only sitting for the span of time it took you to return to the kitchen for the glass of wine you’d poured yourself and to pour him one as well – before you could hear him moving around again, and his voice was still distinctly not okay as he called out, from the general direction of the half-bath under the staircase, “You don’t happen to have any floss lyin’ around, do you?”

Floss?

“What?” Is the only answer you could think to reply with as you rounded the staircase again, glasses of wine still in hand, the bottle carefully tucked into your elbow. He peeked around the doorframe at you, somehow managing to look oh-so-charming, even now. 

“Y’know. Floss.” He motioned to his mouth, but you caught a glimpse of just a bit of exhausted exasperation, like he was explaining something incredibly obvious. 

“In the – in the hall closet, I think; why do you need floss?” 

He was looking at you like you were a little slow on the uptake, and you were staring at him like he’d gone insane, and it took a few heartbeats for him to seemingly process that his request was decidedly not normal. He made those, now and then, or said things, or asked things, that just didn’t quite make sense – this was one of them. You couldn’t tell if he was planning on actually answering your question – it didn’t seem like he was, at least not yet, because he moved for the hall closet, continuing his search.

“Dean,” You started, “you want to tell me why you need –...” Your eyes landed on his hip. The gray material of his tee-shirt and the upper portion of his jeans were soaked through in a dark, dark red, and for a moment, you felt a little queasy. “You don’t need dental floss, Dean, you need a hospital.” You informed him.

“Nah.” God, you hated it when he said that, because it was almost always followed up by something completely stupid. “I got you.” Yep. It all processed rather quickly after that. He needed dental floss for stitches. He couldn’t reach it himself – he had you. He had you, the nursing student, and he wanted you to stitch him up with dental floss. You set the glasses of wine and the bottle down on the side table before you could drop them. 

“You want me to stitch you up.” You clarified. “With dental floss.” He finally found what he was looking for - the unopened multi-pack of little travel-sized flosses - and waved it triumphantly next to his head, finally turning around to look at you. You were struck again by how tired he looked – you could practically see the headache pulsing behind his eyes, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that the cheerful, charismatic smile he was putting on was incredibly forced.

“It’s easy!” He promised quickly, with the tone of someone who knew what he was asking was most certainly not easy. “I’ve been doin’ it since I was a kid. Had to stitch my Dad up all the time.” He caught your eye, giving a sheepish grin as he saw the horror on your face. “Long story.”

That was quickly becoming one of your least favorite phrases.

[spnhunter4life]

Familiar Chapter 2

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: little bit of canon typical violence

A/N: This story was originally meant to be a one shot. But then I decided, "You know what? I'm not really happy with this ending. I'll just write one more little chapter to wrap things up." 🙄 Well guess what? If you've been following my work, you know that things always turn out longer than expected. So my 'little' wrap up chapter ended up being kind of long and had to be brought to a stopping point. So here's chapter 2 for you, and you can expect a third chapter as well! That will definitely be the last chapter though (she says with way less confidence than she would like).

Thanks to everyone who has liked, commented on, or reblogged the first chapter! I'm completely blown away by how many notes it's gotten. If you missed the first chapter, read it here!

Summary: Y/N comes back from a walk one day only to realize she can't remember where she was or what she was doing. The new case she and the boys were working must be abandoned in order to recover her memory.

Masterlist

Two months had passed since the shapeshifter hunt, and despite Sam’s encouragement, I still hadn’t said anything to Dean. He was making it extremely difficult for me to ignore my feelings for the older brother the way I always used to. Between his constant pointed looks and making up excuses to leave us alone together, I was about ready to snap.

My dreams about Dean were becoming more frequent too. With thoughts of him almost always on the forefront of my mind, he regularly featured in my dreams. I still had dreams like the one the shapeshifter had taunted me with, but these dreams had branched out into more sweet versions of Dean that left me longing for him even more.

I woke up from one such dream – one where Dean and I were in our very own house, snuggled up together on the couch, a movie playing in the background as we talked – in the back of the Impala. I looked around and saw that we were still on the interstate. We were on our way to Nebraska to check out a new case Sam had found. Four teenagers had shown up dead, all apparently drowned, but their bodies nowhere near water.

“How much further is it?” I asked.

“About 20 miles,” Dean answered.

I sighed and leaned my head against the window. Sam met my eyes in the rearview mirror and raised an eyebrow in question. I just shook my head. He glanced at Dean and back at me, smiling at the small frown on my face this gesture caused. He was getting annoyingly good at figuring out when I had been dreaming about his brother.

By the time we got to a motel, I was irritated and in need of some time away from both brothers. I told them I was going to walk to the diner we saw about 10 blocks away and bring home food for everybody. It would give me time to clear my head. I really needed to find time to talk to Sam about stopping all the teasing and trying to be supportive. Even though it wasn’t his intention, it was only making things worse.

~~~~~

“There you are!” Dean’s relieved voice greeted me as soon as I walked in the door.

“Seriously, Y/N, what took you so long?” Sam chimed in. “We were getting worried. I think Dean was about ready to start a search party.”

“Sorry,” I apologized, not sure why they were so worked up. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“It shouldn’t have taken you an hour and a half,” Dean argued. “Where’s the food?” He added almost as an afterthought.

“What food?”

“The whole reason you left was to get food,” Sam told me. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” I answered. Then I thought about it. What had I been doing? I was certain I hadn’t been gone for very long, but then, I realized that all I could remember was the walk back to the motel. “Just walking I guess? I don’t actually remember.”

“How can you not remember?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know!” I yelled, frustrated and confused.

“Ok, well what do you remember?” Sam asked.

“I remember… waking up in the Impala on the drive here. I guess I kind of remember getting to the motel. Other than that… I’ve got nothing.”

“Come here,” Dean said, gesturing for me to walk over to him. 

“Why?” I wondered.

“Just come here.”

I walked over to him and he immediately began feeling around my head.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for a lump or some other injury,” he said, continuing his search.

“I think I’d know if I hit my head,” I told him, backing out of his reach.

“Apparently you’ve lost your memory. How are you supposed to know what happened?”

“If I’d been hit on the head hard enough for it to affect my memory, don’t you think I’d have a horrible headache at the very least?” I reasoned.

“Point taken. But clearly something happened. We need to figure out what.”

“Let’s just all head towards the diner,” Sam suggested. “We still need to eat, and maybe something on the way will jog Y/N’s memory.”

Nobody had any better ideas and he was right, we did still need to eat. So we went outside and started walking towards the diner. We’d made it six blocks when Sam stopped us. This particular part of town was the area where commercial buildings started being replaced by residential. There were multiple small businesses scattered throughout the neighborhood. Some buildings were obviously both people’s place of work and their home. 

“Do you think you might have gone in there?” He asked, pointing at the music store across the street. Through the window I could see guitars spaced out on the wall, a row of pianos under them. I loved the piano. I grew up taking lessons and badly missed being able to play. It was an easy, surefire way for me to calm down and clear my head, a fact both brothers were aware of.

“You did seem stressed when you left,” Dean agreed. “I’d actually be surprised if you didn’t go in. And that would explain why you were gone for so long.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t explain my memory loss. Think about it. An hour and a half, just gone. What are the odds of me forgetting such a specific chunk of time? Someone had to have done this to me. We need to find out who. And why.”

“I agree. Which is why I think we should go in,” Dean said. “If we’re going to find answers, we need to retrace your steps. We have nothing else to go off of.”

We crossed the street and Sam led the way inside. A little bell above the door announced our arrival. I scanned the room, looking for anything familiar but coming up empty. I walked over to the line of pianos, lightly running my hand along the tops of each one I passed. I stopped at the fourth one in line. A blur of memories raced through my head, but nothing that would help solve my current memory loss problem. 

This piano was very similar to the one I grew up playing. I remembered the hours spent on it, favorite songs learned and played enough times to become annoying to my family. The very same songs forgotten about when they became too easy and a new favorite came along. I placed my hands on the keys and played a few chords.

“Anything?” Dean asked. I just shook my head.

“Oh! You’re back!” Exclaimed a balding man who appeared out of the back room. He was probably in his early 50s and had a very friendly, cheerful demeanor. “You decided to buy this lovely instrument after all?”

“Uh, no. Unfortunately I have nowhere to keep a piano. No, I was just… passing by again and couldn’t resist,” I told him.

“Well, if circumstances ever change, I’d love to help you out!” He said.

I thanked him and placed my hands back on the keys, playing the opening notes to an old favorite song.

“Have you had a lot of business today?” I heard Sam ask.

“No, it’s been pretty slow today. But then, Mondays usually are,” the man answered easily. 

“I figured it must be a slow day when you recognized Y/N so quickly,” Sam said, subtly fishing for information.

“Well she was the only one in the store at the time, but even if there had been 20 other people around, she plays so beautifully I could hardly have missed her.”

The conversation ended there. Or at least, I think it did. I lost myself in the song I was playing, and all other noise faded away. Once finished, I turned around to face the three men. The owner of the store was looking at me with the appreciation of a fellow musician. Sam looked impressed as he always did when he heard me play. Dean… I couldn’t quite read the look on his face. The closest word I could come up with to describe it is awe. But I knew that wasn’t right.

The store owner glanced at his watch and regretfully informed us it was closing time. He thanked us for coming in and I thanked him for letting me play. The three of us exited the store and started walking in the direction of the diner again. 

We stopped in a couple more stores we passed that I might have gone into in an effort to destress. A small little used bookstore that was absolutely packed from wall to wall with books and an antique store, the kind that always reminded me of my history loving father and the countless stores he took me to growing up. Neither of these places sparked any memories either though, and as far as we could tell, I hadn’t stopped inside earlier.

“Well we have some explanation for where you were at least,” Sam said when we’d been seated at the diner.

“Yeah, but we still have no idea what happened to me. How are we supposed to get my memory back when we don’t even know where to start?” 

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out. We always do,” Sam assured me. This wasn’t much of a comfort to me at the moment, and Dean seemed to realize that.

“We’re going to figure it out, Y/N. I promise. I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re our priority right now. Everything else gets dropped until we figure this out. You’re our new case. Have we ever not solved a case?” He asked.

I smiled, feeling more confident with my situation. He was right. There was nothing we couldn’t solve when we worked together. 

“What’s our next step, then?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Dean admitted. 

“Our next step is going to the motel and getting some sleep,” Sam answered. “It’s getting late and we have no leads. Our best bet is to sleep on it and get a fresh start tomorrow. And who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and your memories will be back in the morning.”

I didn’t really want to wait. I wanted to solve this now. But I knew Sam was right. We had nowhere to start, and being low on sleep wouldn’t help anybody, so I grudgingly agreed to this plan of action.

~~~~~

When I woke up the next morning, I kept my eyes closed and just laid there for a minute, working up the energy to actually get up. I heard the deep, even breathing of a sleeping person coming from the direction of the beds and the occasional shuffling of paper or clacking of a keyboard from the other side of the room. 

I rolled over so I wasn’t facing the back of the couch and was greeted by a rare sight when I opened my eyes. The unmistakable sounds of research I’d heard were coming not from Sam as I’d assumed, but Dean, up before his brother, the notorious early riser.

“What time is it?” I asked as I sat up. He looked up at me.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted. “It’s… almost seven.”

“And Sam’s still sleeping?” I asked around a yawn. Dean still picked up on the disbelief in my voice.

“I know, right? Lazy ass. Of all days to sleep in.”

I chuckled at his annoyed teasing and went to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. When I stepped back into the room, dressed and teeth brushed, I saw Sam up and rifling through his duffle.

“Hey,” he said. “I don’t suppose you remember anything?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I sighed.

“Ok. Well I guess we should go get some breakfast and discuss next steps.”

“No need,” Dean interjected. “I already came up with our next step while you two were catching up on your beauty sleep.”

“You did?” I asked, surprised.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” He answered. Before he could continue, Sam interrupted. 

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Couple hours.” He took a drink from a to go cup of coffee that I hadn’t even noticed he had.

Sam glanced at me, the look on his face one that he reserved for times he wanted to say ‘You two are so meant to be together’ but couldn’t say it out loud because Dean was in the room. He had said it to me on more than one occasion when Dean wasn’t around, which is how I know what the look translated to. 

“Anyway,” Dean continued. He picked up a phone book that was laying open beside him. “I found this psychic in town that should be able to help us. I figured we’d stop by her place after breakfast.”

“A psychic? I don’t know, Dean.” The thought made me nervous. Most of the people who advertised themselves as psychics were phonies. And even if this one wasn’t – which I didn’t know how Dean could be sure of – what if she wasn’t able to help? What if she saw something I didn’t want her to see? I’m a pretty private person, and the thought of someone digging around in my head is incredibly unappealing.

“Hear me out,” he insisted. “I’ve done my research, ok? She’s the real deal.”

“How can you be sure?” Sam asked.

“Because. I’ve done my research,” Dean repeated. “Look,” he said, spinning the laptop to face us. It was open to a website for The Amazing Annabelle. “There are dozens of reviews on here, and every one of them says she was able to help. And look at this.”

He slowly scrolled down to the bottom of the page, showing off the dozens of symbols and sigils scattered throughout. A lot of them I recognized as protection from various supernatural beings. There were a lot that I didn’t recognize too. They clearly marked her as knowing about the world of supernatural creatures though. Unless she had just pulled together symbols she thought looked cool in order to give herself an air of authenticity.

“Alright, fine. But a few good reviews and a bunch of symbols used by hunters doesn’t exactly prove that she’s psychic,” Sam argued. I had to agree. I didn’t want to hurt Dean’s feelings since he’d clearly put some time into this and I knew he was just trying to help, but psychics made me nervous. There was no way I would agree to go unless we knew for sure she was legit.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. Which is why I talked to Bobby,” Dean responded. So this was the reason he was so confident. Bobby was highly respected among the hunter community. If he gave his approval on this Amazing Annabelle, then we really couldn’t doubt her abilities. “He said he’s not super familiar with her, but he has heard of her. She’s good at what she does and someone who can be trusted.”

“Ok,” I agreed. “Breakfast and then a visit to the psychic. I suppose the worst that can happen is she isn’t able to help.”

~~~~~

The first thing I noticed about Annabelle was how… normal she was. With the exception of Missouri, all the other psychics I’d ever seen were dressed in over the top outfits, their places decked out with all sorts of nonsense that was supposedly necessary for them to do their job.

If I’d seen this girl on the street, I would never have guessed what her occupation was. She was about our age and short, standing a full head below my 5’ 6” frame. And she was very pretty. I noticed both Sam and Dean’s immediate appreciation of her beauty. She was wearing white leggings and a purple shirt, her night black hair was in a messy ponytail that suited her very well, and her golden brown skin was flawless.

“What can I do for you?” She asked when she opened the door. Dean cleared his throat before answering.

“I’m Dean. This is Sam and Y/N. We were hoping you could help us with something.”

“I gathered that much,” she smiled. She opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Come in.”

We stepped inside and she led us to a room that had an armchair and a comfortable looking couch as well as a round table with four chairs. She sat in the armchair so the three of us settled ourselves on the couch, Sam and Dean on either end and me between them.

“So. What can I help you with?” She asked again. 

“Do you have any experience with trying to recover memories?” I asked.

“Some, yes,” she said. “It really depends on how the memories were lost. Some are easy to find. Some take work, but can still be found with patience. Some, like in the instance of an injury to the brain, can’t be recovered.”

“We don’t actually know what happened. That’s part of what I need to remember. Our assumption is that magic was involved though,” I informed her.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” she assured me. “If you’ll come with me?” She stood and moved to the table, gesturing for me to sit across from her. The boys came and stood close by to watch.

“I’ll need some information from you in order to know where to look,” she said. “Give me as much detail as you can about these memories. How long ago was it? How much time are you missing? Is it relating to any specific object or person? Anything you can give me will help.”

“It was yesterday,” Sam explained. “She has an hour and a half chunk of time just missing and we have no clue why.”

“What were you doing when you lost your memory and how did you realize you’d lost it?” 

“I was just walking from our motel to a diner to get some food. I only realized what happened because I couldn’t actually remember why I left the room and I definitely didn’t think I was gone that long.”

“Ok,” she said, taking my hands in hers. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and instructed me to do the same. “I need you to concentrate as hard as you can on the moments from that walk that you can remember.” 

Then she chanted a couple lines of Latin and suddenly I was back on the sidewalk outside the music store. I was walking in the direction of the diner once again when I hit a block. It was like an invisible barrier I couldn’t pass. I tried to go around it and when that didn’t work, turned around to go the other way. No matter what I tried, I was stuck where I was.

And then I was back at the table with Annabelle, Sam and Dean hovering over my shoulders.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“I still don’t remember anything,” I told Annabelle.

“I know. Your memories were definitely blocked using magic. It’s a stronger magic than I was expecting. It’s up to you to decide how important it is that you get them back. If you want to continue, I’m going to have to put you into a trance in order to access them.”

“Is that dangerous?” Dean asked.

“It can be. But only if you don’t have a good anchor,” she answered.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“I’m going to have to send Y/N deep into her subconscious to find answers. Doing this requires an anchor, a tether to reality, someone to bring her back. Otherwise she could be stuck in her own subconscious with no way out."

“That’s not a problem. Both of them would be willing to do that,” I told her.

“I’m sure they would, but your anchor can’t be just anyone. It has to be someone with a very strong emotional connection. Normally I recommend close family members or significant others for this sort of process. I’m assuming they are neither?” 

I hesitated. The answer, of course, was no. But I didn’t see how I couldn’t have a strong enough connection with them for this to work. Living the way we did – being with each other 24/7, trusting each other with our lives – created a very strong bond. Not to mention the way I felt about Dean. But maybe if it was one sided it wouldn’t work. And I wasn’t about to say that Dean was the safer bet because I felt our connection was stronger.

“Dean can do it,” Sam announced.

Dean and I both whipped our heads to look at him. I was sure the shock, irritation, and minor panic I could see on Dean’s face was mirrored on my own. I knew we were panicking for entirely different reasons though. For Dean it was worry that he wouldn’t be a strong enough connection for me. He didn’t want to risk me not coming back. For me it was worry that Sam was going to rat me out. And boy would we have words if he did.

“What?” He snapped at the death glares we were both now fixing on him. “You know it’s true. You’ve known Dean longer than you’ve known me. You two get along so well and know each other so well that if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’d known each other your entire lives. I promise your emotional connection is more than strong enough to handle this. And I swear if either one of you tries to deny how close you are right now, I will not hesitate to punch you.”

I looked at Dean at the same moment he looked at me. There was uncertainty in his eyes, but his jaw and shoulders were set in determination.

“I can leave you alone to discuss it if you’d like,” Annabelle offered.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dean said. “It’s up to you of course – you’re the one taking the risk – but I’ll do my best to bring you back if you’re willing to trust me to do it. Otherwise we can try to find another way.”

“Of course I trust you. That’s not even a question,” I told him.

He watched me for a minute, weighing the sincerity of my words.

“Ok,” he said. “What do you need us to do?”

Annabelle stood up and moved to a shelf full of drawers on the edge of the room, opening different ones and pulling things out as she explained.

“As I already said, I’ll be putting Y/N into a deep trance. The magic is blocking your memories on a conscious level. Sending you into your subconscious will allow you to access them, but only while you’re in the trance. Once you’re awake, you’ll forget everything again.”

“Then how does this help us?” Sam asked.

Annabelle set everything she’d grabbed down on the table and then opened a cabinet underneath, grabbing a clear glass ball and setting it in the middle of the table.

“It helps, because you and I will be able to see everything she’s seeing while she’s in the trance.”

“What about me?” Dean asked.

“Since you’re the anchor, you’ll be inside her head too. You’ll be able to see and hear everything. Sam and I will only be able to see, so you’ll need to pay particular attention to things you hear as you’ll be the only one who knows those details.”

She began combining her ingredients, crushing leaves and mixing together powders and liquids.

“While she’s out, I need the two of you to be absolutely silent,” she told Sam and Dean. “You’ll both be fully aware of the noises happening around you. It could be tricky getting to the hidden memories, and distractions won’t help. Once we’ve found the information you’re looking for, we’ll need your anchor. At that point I need Dean – and only Dean – to start talking to her.”

She now had a liquidy brown paste in front of her. She dipped her finger into it and began drawing symbols on my forehead.

“It doesn’t matter what you say. Your voice, as well as your physical connection, will lead her back into consciousness.”

“Our physical connection?” I asked.

“Yes. You’ll need to be holding hands during this,” she said. Done with my forehead, she quickly drew an intricate swirling knot on the palm of each of my hands. She drew the same design on both of Dean’s palms and then worked on his forehead as well. I assumed the design was identical to mine. “Dean, if you’ll sit across from her, we can get started.”

She sat in one of the two empty chairs and gestured for Sam to sit in the last one. 

“Alright. I need you to tell me everything you can remember from the time just before your memories disappeared. Once you’re under, you won’t be able to talk to me. The more details I have, the easier I can guide you to the missing time.”

“I already told you what I remember.”

“No. I need more. Tell me exactly what the last thing you remember is. Is it walking out the door? Did you get a ways before you forgot? What were you thinking? What were you feeling? What could you see, hear, smell? Give me everything you can remember.”

“Well… I don’t remember leaving the room. I kind of remember getting to the motel, but that’s a little hazy. I guess the clearest memory I have is waking up in the Impala about 15 minutes before we got to town.”

“Ok. Let’s start with that then. What details can you give me about that?” She prompted.

“I don’t know. Not much. We were in the car. On the interstate. Dean had Metallica playing. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to say,” I told her. If this is what it took to get my memories back then I was screwed. Coming up with little details from hazy memories wasn’t exactly easy.

“That’s ok. Don’t worry. How about how you were feeling? Can you remember that?”

I’d just had a dream about Dean. So a big mix of emotions. Happy, sad, longing, irritation. Irritation. Yeah. I definitely remembered being annoyed when we got to the motel.

“I was annoyed. When we got to the motel. I remember being annoyed. I imagine it’s why I left to get the food. And Dean said I seemed stressed.”

“Great!” Annabelle praised. “What else? Do you know why you were annoyed?”

“Um…” How to answer that truthfully but without giving anything away. I looked between Sam and Dean and remembered how Sam had picked up on what I’d dreamt about and silently teased me about it. “Just an argument with Sam.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What argument?” Dean interjected. “You guys didn’t even talk to each other.” 

“No, but just because we’re not as close as you two are doesn’t mean we can’t communicate without having to say anything,” Sam said.

Dean looked shocked. No doubt he was wondering how often we’d had these silent conversations. Little did he know, they were always about him.

“Ok. Anything else you can give me?” Annabelle asked.

“I know I went into a music store and stopped to play one of the pianos. I don’t actually remember doing it though. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got enough to work with. Remember, I need the two of you to stay quiet,” she told Sam and Dean. They both confirmed that they would. “Ok. Dean and Y/N, take each other’s hands and close your eyes.” 

She waited for us to follow her instruction before continuing. A stream of Latin, different from the first time, fell from her lips and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into my subconscious. It felt a little like drifting off to sleep, so gradual that you’re somehow both aware and unaware of it at the same time.

~~~~~

Dean’s POV

As Annabelle’s chanting trailed off, a picture of my surroundings slowly began to take shape. I recognized it immediately. It was the inside of the Impala – from Y/N’s perspective. She was in the passenger side backseat, her usual place.

“Can you hear me Y/N?” Annabelle asked in a calm, soothing tone. “If you can hear me, I want you to get out of the car.”

I watched as my hand – No. Not mine. Y/N’s – reached for the handle and then she swung her legs out and stood up.

“Great. I’ll do my best to guide you to your forgotten memories, but this is mostly on you. If you seem stuck, I’ll help you figure out where to go, but otherwise I’ll stay quiet and let you figure things out for yourself. Now I need you to focus for me. I need you to think about the motel.”

The background around us flashed through a series of images. Different motels we’d stayed at over the years.

“The motel you’re staying at now,” Annabelle clarified. “The one you got to last night.” 

The flashing images slowed and came to rest on one. 

“That’s good, Y/N. Now I need you to focus on your emotions from last night. You got to the motel and were annoyed with Sam because you’d just had an argument.”

Y/N’s mind flashed back to the backseat of the Impala, Metallica’s Fade to Black playing through the speakers. She was looking at Sam in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows raised. I could tell by the view shifting back and forth that she was shaking her head. Sam looked quickly at me and then back to her, smiling. And then, memory over, we were back outside the motel. 

That’s it? That was their argument? No wonder I’d missed it. What did it even mean? I caught myself just before I actually asked these questions out loud, remembering Annabelle’s instruction to stay silent.

“You wanted to take a walk, so you offered to go get food for everyone,” Annabelle continued. I watched this memory version of Y/N walk out the door. “You stopped at a music store along the way. Did you stop anywhere else?”

We all sat in silence as we watched Y/N walk for several blocks, never stopping. She looked around as she walked, frequently turning her head to look at different things. I remembered Annabelle telling me I would be the only one with access to the sounds in her memory and started paying attention. I heard the chirping of birds, the occasional car driving by, a bell ringing inside a store as someone opened the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Y/N walked past a group of teenagers and I listened in to their conversation. They were discussing the loss of their friends. The information I got from them was useless as far as Y/N was concerned, but I memorized their faces so we could question them once we’d helped Y/N and were ready to work the case we actually came here for.

She walked for another block and then stopped outside the music store. She stopped for a moment to look at it, and the world around me disappeared as she relived a different memory. I saw a child’s hands on the keys of a piano. I heard the music being played, a simple melody of Jingle Bells that the child was singing along to. I heard a grown man singing with her. The song ended and she looked up into the smiling face of the man I knew to be her father.

She crossed the street and walked into the store, heading straight for the pianos and trailing her fingers over them as she walked by, much as she had her second time through with me and Sam. She stopped at the same piano she did with us. Having seen the childhood memory, I now understood the draw to this particular instrument. 

I listened as she played a complex set of chords that transitioned into a haunting melody. I was entranced, as I always was when she played. It was clear it was something she deeply enjoyed and missed. I was startled as Annabelle’s voice cut in over the music.

“What did you do next? What happened when you were done playing?” She asked. I suppose this part of the memory would be particularly boring to her and Sam, who couldn’t hear what I could. Not to mention it wasn’t exactly helping us find out what happened. We did need to keep moving, I supposed.

The memory jumped to the last few notes of what had to be a different song entirely. Then Y/N turned around and saw the store owner standing there, listening intently.

“You’re a wonderful pianist,” he told her. 

“Oh, that? I was just messing around,” she mumbled at the compliment. 

I listened closely to their conversation. While he was pretty low down on my suspect list, he was also technically the only person on that list as he was the only person we knew to have interacted with her. Nothing sparked my suspicions though.

He continued to praise her abilities, she continued to brush them aside, and he asked if she had any interest in buying the piano she’d been playing. 

“I would be very happy to sell it to you,” he told her. “It’s not often I get to sell an instrument with the confidence it will be used and well loved.”

She politely turned down his offer and then told him she needed to be going, that her friends were expecting her to be back soon.

She left the store and continued her walk. Although I couldn’t actually feel her emotions, I could tell that playing had calmed her down significantly. There was just something about the way the world looked to her now.

She made it another half a block before she stopped. I could discern no reason for this. She simply stopped walking. After a few minutes it became apparent that something wasn’t right.

“This is where you got stuck the first time we tried finding your memories, isn’t it?” I heard Annabelle ask. “Whatever happened to block your memories, this is where it happened. The magic is still putting up a fight. I need you to push back. It can’t stop you from seeing. It’s all in your head that you can’t go any further. Just keep walking.”

We all waited for a couple minutes as she struggled with pushing past whatever spell was holding her in place. 

“You can do it,” Annabelle encouraged. “You’re stronger than the magic is, I promise. Keep walking.”

Another minute passed and I knew she was winning because noises – which I hadn’t even realized had disappeared – started filtering through. It was like hearing something from underwater. Muffled, hard to make out, but definitely there. Then, all at once I could hear voices clearly and we were moving forward again.

I heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the alley in front of her. She quickly walked to it and then slowed to a stop just outside, listening. There was the unmistakable sound of chanting and underneath it, gurgling. 

“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath. She reached into her boot to grab the silver knife she always had with her. “Wish I had my gun right about now.”

She peeked her head around and saw a teenage boy standing over another one. An endless stream of water was spewing out of the lips of the boy on the ground and he was choking on it. The chanting boy was facing her. The second she stepped into the alley she’d be spotted. But the drowning boy didn’t have time for her to find a better plan of attack.

She rushed in and the boy stopped his chanting when he saw her. He started a different chant, just a few words, and then he raised his arm, flinging her into the building beside her. The knife she’d been holding went flying out of her hand. I desperately wanted to run to help her, to make sure she was ok or to kill that boy. I didn’t know which desire was stronger, but I reminded myself that it didn’t matter. This was a memory. It was all in the past and I couldn’t change it now. I just had to watch and learn what I could. That’s how I would help her. Because now we had his face and we could track him down.

Hand still stretched out to hold her in place, he looked back to his original target, now desperately gasping for breath. He continued his chanting, and the poor boy on the ground only lasted a few more moments.

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N asked him. “What could he possibly have done to you to deserve that?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” the boy snapped at her. “No one does.”

He started marching in her direction.

“You should have left it alone,” he snarled. “If you’d just kept walking, everything would be fine. But now you’ve seen too much. And you have to go too.”

He started up his chanting again, directing it at Y/N this time. I could hear water falling from her mouth and hitting the ground. I could hear the sound of her gurgling and choking. I couldn’t bear it. How had she gotten out of this?

“Thomas!” A sharp female voice called from the other end of the alley.

The chanting stopped as the boy looked in the direction of the voice. Y/N immediately started coughing the water out of her lungs and gasping for breath. She looked at the person who had spoken. She was a woman in her late 40s or early 50s at a guess and she was fuming.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked as she smacked him over the head. “Don’t you think you’ve left enough bodies behind? Do you want to attract the attention of a hunter?”

“She saw me! What was I supposed to do?” He protested.

“You were supposed to have not killed another person to begin with! We talked about this! I’ve covered your messes your whole life, but I can’t hide murdered teenagers. Especially when you’re as sloppy about it as you’ve been and especially when you don’t even tell me about it!”

The boy hung his head in shame. But not guilt. Apparently he’d been raised to do a better job of hiding his crimes. Witches. I hated them.

“Well I have to kill her now. She’s seen too much,” Thomas argued.

“No. We’re already far too at risk of hunters coming to town. You can’t add another person to the body count. Especially so close to your father’s store. Do you want him to find out it's you killing people? About the fact magic is real, and you use it? No. We’ll erase her memory and send her on her way. She won’t be a problem.”

The witch grabbed an already made hex bag out of her purse and placed it in Y/N’s immobilized hand, forcing her fingers to close around it. I knew that she would have been fighting to get free, but since she was completely stuck there were no visible indications of this. I had been in that position more than once and knew the frustration of being unable to move.

The boy’s mother started up her own chanting and the memory we were in started fading to black. It continued with Y/N standing just outside the music store. She seemed confused at first, looking around as if trying to get her bearings. Then she turned and headed back in the direction of the motel, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

“Ok,” Annabelle said. I’d forgotten she was even there. “It’s time to bring her back. Go ahead and talk to her, Dean.”

At the mention of my name, I saw my face flash through her mind. I was sitting beside her on a couch and smiling. I didn’t remember this particular day. It could have been on any given day at any random motel. 

I wasn’t really sure what to say, and just babbling whatever words came into my head seemed silly, but getting her back was more important than my discomfort.

“Y/N,” I said, pausing to think of my next words. The memory in her head changed. Now, rather than seeing from her perspective, I was in an outsider’s point of view. And I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “What the hell is that?” I gasped out. 

With a mix of excitement, shock, and confusion, I watched a guy who looked remarkably like me – although it couldn’t have been because I knew this had never happened before – lift Y/N in the air, spin her around a couple of times, and then set her back on her feet before leaning down to kiss her.

“I thought we were in her memories,” I said.

“You are,” Annabelle answered.

“No we’re not. We can’t be. That never happened.” 

“Then it must be a memory of a dream. Focus, Dean,” Annabelle instructed. “Be her anchor. Bring her back.”

I tried to concentrate on my job, but all I could see was the image of us kissing playing over and over in my head. 

“Can you please think of something else?” I practically begged her.

I was grateful when the memory – or whatever it was – flickered and changed into something else. Only this was no better. We were kissing again, only this time sitting on a very nice couch in a very nice room. It changed again. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala together, just the two of us. Kissing. Another change. I had Y/N pressed up against a wall. We were really kissing in this one.

It changed again and I breathed out a sigh of relief. She’d pulled up a random memory of her in one of her college classes, back before she quit school.

“Ok,” I breathed out and then cleared my throat. “Ok.” If I thought I didn’t know what to say before, I was really stuck now. What was I supposed to say to her after seeing all of that?

“Ok,” I said yet again. “You need to come back now. You have to find your way back. Sam and I are waiting for you.”

“It’s not going to work,” Annabelle said. “She’s trying too hard to keep her memories in control to focus on finding her way out of the trance. Y/N, don’t worry about what memories surface during this. Your only job is to come out of it. Listen to Dean and don��t worry about anything else. And Dean. Don’t worry about finding the right words. Say whatever comes naturally. That’s what she needs.”

Say what comes naturally. This would be a lot easier if I didn’t know Sam was listening to my every word. But Y/N was counting on me. I took a deep breath to prepare myself.

I said her name again. The memory of the classroom flickered to one of me in the driver’s seat of the Impala, singing along to Led Zeppelin. Y/N was in the back, singing with me and Sam was smiling in the passenger seat, refusing to join in.

“If I’m being honest with you, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say right now. But you trusted me to get you out of this and I’ll be damned if I let you down. So I need you to do your part too. Find your way out of this. Come back to us.”

Memories flashed by as she searched for a way back into consciousness. I saw memories of real things, memories I shared. Us in the car, in motel rooms, on hunts. Her patching up a knife wound on my bicep, me holding her close and carrying her after her run in with that shapeshifter. There were more memories of things I didn’t recognize too. More dreams, I suppose. Us out on what could only be interpreted as a date. Us curled up together in bed, talking. Us dancing together in an empty parking lot, a slow song playing from Baby’s speakers. And more dreams of us kissing in various scenarios.

It would have been so easy to get lost in all of these memories, in seeing myself the way she saw me. And in wondering how she could apparently dream about me so much, apparently have feelings for me, without me ever knowing. But I made myself focus on being her anchor.

“Do you know how glad I am that you’re a part of my life? I sometimes wonder how I ever managed without you. And you know you can’t leave me and Sam on our own. We wouldn’t last without you. We’d probably kill each other.”

I watched as the countless swirling memories of us switched to ones of me and Sam. She remembered more than one instance that proved me wrong. She thought about all the times Sam and I had leaned on each other and kept the other going. She was essentially telling me that while she appreciated the sentiment, she knew we’d be fine without her.

“Alright, fine,” I said. “Maybe we’d get by fine on our own. That doesn’t mean either of us want to. You’re too important to us. So come back to us,” I repeated. 

She seemed to be flipping through her memories, as if looking for the right one to bring her back.

“Come back to me.”

I became the focus again, a memory of me standing outside on a bright sunny day and laughing at something she’d said flitting into her mind. But she pushed it away to start looking again.

“Don’t worry about the memories, remember?” I told her. “Just focus on me. Listen to my voice. Try to feel my hands,” I encouraged her. Different memories floated by again, pulled up at random by my words, or maybe the tone of my voice. I didn’t know. They almost all circled around just the two of us though. More dreams of us kissing flashed by.

The shock I felt at these images was lessening and I was beginning to be more comfortable with them. So, following Annabelle’s advice, I let myself respond naturally. I let go of the tight leash I usually kept on my natural inclination to flirt. It wasn’t something I’d ever done with her, not wanting to scare her away. If only I’d known how she really felt.

“You know,” I drawled, wishing I could flash her a smile. “If you wanted to kiss me so badly, you only had to say something. We can definitely do something about that. But only if you come back to me.”

There was a rush of memories flipping by so quickly I couldn’t make anything out in any of them. Then everything went black and I became aware of my own body again. I tentatively opened my eyes and saw Y/N sitting across from me, Sam and Annabelle on either side of us. 

I smiled a little. I wanted to know if she’d found her way out so suddenly out of embarrassment and a desire to escape or excitement and anticipation. 

“Don’t forget, she won’t remember any of what just happened,” Annabelle warned me. 

“I know,” I said. That wasn’t a problem. It was a lot easier to take a shot when you could see clearly. And I could finally see everything.

Chapter 3

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

[sleepy-autumns-world]

Doll Face ♡

Dean Winchester x Fem!reader (Romantic), Sam Winchester x Fem!reader (platonic) [overall sfw]

Author's note: My very first fanfic I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff!!!!, Blood, Being tied up, general warning for supernatural

Synopsis: While on hunt with the boys, you get kidnapped by a skinwalker that then steals your identity. Takes place in season 1

Words: 1595

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Dean was roused from his light sleep as the phone on the wall of the dingey motel began ringing, they were in a rural town in search of some kind of beast. Dean walked over half-asleep, and picked the phone off the dock. It was Sam, he sounded…panicked. He was talking fast and breathing faster he was rambling about something, he was talking so fast that Dean could barely make out his words. “Sammy, slow down! What’s going on?” Dean said to his brother over the landline. “Sorry, sorry.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “Y/N and I went to ask the police for the reports about the recent attacks, then the power cut and three out of five of the police officers were lying on the floor dead with their entrails laid about. We got the surviving officers out of there. Y/N is fine but she seems…off, not anything i’ve ever seen on her. She won’t talk and she has…this strange blank expression. I'm not sure what kind of creature we’re dealing with, but I'm worried.” Sam explained the situation to the best of his abilities through his panic.

***

You wake up a few hours later, you can’t move and you don’t know where you are. The air smells damp and musty, the place is dimly lit. Wherever you are, it definitely has something to do with this creature you’re after. You try to break your wrists free but as you try to break the rope you feel a sharp pain shoot down your spine and the waking world starts to fade. You fight but your struggle only lasts for a few seconds. The last thing you hear before you black out is a malicious laugh.

***

Sam speeds back to the motel with ‘you’. -You didn’t say anything the entire drive, you always have something strange on your mind and aren’t afraid to make it known. It was one of the many things Sam loved about you, so it was unusual and worrying, just how quiet you were. On top of your silence, you didn’t even look at him, not to mention you had a devilish smirk as you looked out the window supposedly lost in thought- He gets out and you silently follow behind him. The two of you walk into the room to see Dean sitting at the desk with a bunch of books. “You figure out what we’re dealing with yet Dean?” Sam looked over to Dean who gestured for him to talk with him, alone. You stood by the window watching the rain fall, lost in thought with that same odd smirk. Sam and Dean slip into the other room and Sam notices Dean’s serious and concerned expression. “Sam, I know what we’re dealing with and I know why she’s acting strange…” Dean stared back at you. He resumed “I think we’re dealing with a skinwalker. And I…I think it took Y/N and disguised itself as her” Sam’s eyes widened, it was all clicking in his mind. If Dean was right, then they needed to find you and fast.

***

You slowly came to, your mind was fuzzy and your head was throbbing. You didn’t sense anyone…or anything nearby. You breathe a sigh of relief, as you do so, a wave of pain spreads through your chest. As a matter of fact, breathing itself was agony but you need to get out of here and find Dean and Sam. You wrack your foggy brain, trying to remember anything before you passed out earlier. Wait, that laugh I heard, it…it sounded like my voice… Suddenly, everything made sense, that thing was a skinwalker and it was wearing your form. What if it goes after Sam or Dean? You have to get out of here. You strategically move your wrists in an attempt to break them free. After a few minutes, your hands are free. You quickly untie your legs and stand up. Perhaps a little too quickly, your vision clouds and you breathe heavily causing even more pain in your chest. You lean onto the wall for support, after a few minutes, you collect your bearings and start looking for an exit.

***

Dean moves toward the skinwalker wearing your form in the other room. Sam has a face riddled with shock, he’s worried Dean’s about to do something stupid and get himself hurt. The creature turns to face him with a maniacal smile. “We know you’re not her, Where is she?!” Dean raised his voice at the creature. It smiled only wider before lunging at Dean, pinning him to the ground. Sam attempts to wrestle it off of his brother, who is currently swearing like a sailor. After a quick tussle, Sam has it pinned and Dean is shooting it daggers. “If you don't want a silver bullet to the heart, i’d suggest telling me where you took her” Dean’s voice was low and threatening. Sam was slightly caught off-guard, it wasn’t often Dean used that tone. The skinwalker narrowed its eyes and smiled wider. Dean caressed his gun before pointing it directly at the skinwalker’s chest. “Last chance buddy” his voice was slightly shaky. He didn’t want to shoot you even if it was just some monster pretending to be you, afterall you are his girl. It whimpered before speaking “Fine! Fine. She’s in the abandoned Auto shop down the road. Please, just don’t shoot” Dean looked down at it with a stoic expression before pulling the trigger. The creature screamed and melted away, its blood seeping into the carpet. Dean quickly grabs the keys to his baby and gestures to Sam to stop staring at the E.T. looking corpse and follow him.

***

You walk through the damp hallways. The smell of mold is so strong it makes you dizzy but you carry on. Every breath sends jolts of pain through your body, you’re beginning to suspect you may have a few broken ribs but that’s not important right now. All of a sudden your vision clouds and you collapse against the wall. Perhaps your condition is worse than you originally thought…

***

Dean drove to the abandoned auto shop, hoping that the damned thing wasn’t lying. Dean parks the impala and both of them step out. Sam goes over to the trunk to get some weapons just in case there’s more than one, as Dean tries to pick the lock on the front door. Sam walks over to Dean with silver bullets and silver daggers. Dean got frustrated with the lock so he instead took the unconventional route of just kicking it down. They quickly run through the halls in opposite directions calling your name. Sam spots you unconscious and slumped by the wall. He picks you up and starts walking in the direction Dean went. “Dean, I found her!” He called down the hall. “Thank the lord. I'm coming” Dean says relieved before walking out with Sam following behind with you in his arms. Dean unlocks the impala and Sam gently sets you in the backseat. Dean drives back to the motel, softly humming Metallica the entire way back. Dean parks and gets out. Sam walks over to your door and carefully picks you up out of the impala and follows his brother back to the motel room. Dean waits for him to catch up and takes you from Sam while shooting a dirty look. Sam puts his hands up, smiling and stifling a laugh. Dean rolls his eyes and walks into the motel room. He sets you down on his bed. You open your eyes slightly, after a few minutes. You hear Dean’s voice “You awake babydoll?” You nod. “Ol’ Sammy’s in the shower” He smiled before sitting down on the bed, next to you. “How ya feeling? And I swear if you say fine, I will back hand you woman” He glares at you, he knows you a little too well. “I-it hurts t-to breathe” your voice comes out slightly louder than a whisper but sounds more like a wheeze. He looks concerned “You think you might’ve broken a rib?” you nod. He takes your flannel off and lifts up your shirt. He gently presses on your black and blue rib cage. You wince and try to hold back cries of pain. He lets go and looks you in the eyes. “Well baby girl, I think you’ve got at least two broken ribs. Not much I can do ‘bout that. You’re just gonna have to wait it out. When Sammy comes out I'll get you some ice from the lobby, but for now I'll give ya some pain killers” He smiles and brushes some hair out of your face. “When you’re feeling better you can shower and get that blood off ya” You were exhausted and just wanted to sleep. You buried your face into his chest, knocking him back slightly. He laid back and put his hand on the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair. You listened to his heartbeat for about five minutes before falling asleep on his chest. Sam came out of the shower and witnessed the sight of his brother trapped under you. It was cat rules, if the Y/N was on you, you are now trapped until she moves. Sam stifled a laugh and Dean Shot him a dirty look. He loved when you laid on him. He fell asleep with you in his arms about 15 minutes later. Sam giggled and took out his phone, taking a picture. “Adorable”

The End

[fourleafclovxr]

8: hewn

Only one teacher is allowed into the Theatre of Tales, the night before the Circus of Talents. The rest are locked in their rooms, doors spelled shut with a magic far older and more powerful than their own, for all the Dean of Good might try.

But August Sader walks unrestricted in the School; Rafal could not keep him trapped if he tried. Not that he would try. There’s an old analogy about two birds. One that has every luxury in the world, but is kept in a locked cage. Another that has nothing, except for its freedom to come and go as it pleases. The first will fly away as soon as it is able. The second will always come back home.

August is still unsure of which, exactly, Rafal sees him as. Or which he is.

Rafal must know that, in the end, they are not on the same side.

But he is kind to August, or if not kind, at least lenient with him in ways no one else is afforded. Of all his colleagues August alone is allowed the privilege of freely coming and going wherever he desires. He can go home, meet his brothers, meet their children— if they want to see him. He can visit his sister and her twins, Rafal’s twins— if she lets him. Most of the time she doesn’t. The last time he saw Rhian and Japeth was their eighth birthday, the year before Evelyn sent them off to Arbed House.

A lot of the freedoms Rafal allows him are not freedoms at all, really. August would not leave the School if he could help it. He likes it here, really, likes that he’s familiar with the winding steps and the ever-alike classrooms and the intersecting hallways, likes that he knows his way around.

More than that, this is his duty. This School; this post.

And this man, just a man, who knows full well August would never believe his mystique. The School Master is sparing with his name, but he’d given it to August freely: Rafal, or, as I was known before, Rhian. Call me Rafal. My dear brother was wrong about me. He’s dead, now.

August, who had written and animated his first draft of the Student’s History of the Woods about Rafal and Rhian, or the other way around— then promptly burned it— had only nodded. Rafal’s mask had glinted, a blur of silver in August’s vision. I look forward to working with you, my Seer, he’d said.

My Seer. Rafal has always treated him like a possession, a prize. Has always been so proud that August chose to come to him. It is something that is easy to resent.

And yet August chooses to come to him, even now. Chooses to sit and listen patiently as Rafal enchants wooden likenesses of dying princes, on the other side of the Theatre for Tales. He’s spelled them to die with choked-off screams and feeble declarations of Good, though August isn’t sure how they’re dying exactly. It would be disturbing, if they weren’t in a School quite literally raising children to kill each other in their fourth year.

August has been dreaming of these things for years. Before he knew what they were.

He’s been dreaming of Rafal for longer. He knows all this already.

One last scream, and the room drifts mercifully into silence. Rafal turns, his boots clicking neatly on the floor as he makes his way back to the Good side of the theatre, cape sweeping over the floor with more flair than ever necessary.

He comes to a stop in front of August; offers his arm, fingers brushing August’s shoulder. There is not much August can do other than take it, gripping his cane firmly as Rafal pulls him to his feet. Rafal’s hands are, as always, ice-cold.

“You never have anything to say,” Rafal says lightly, half-complaining. “Perhaps this is the year my art finally gets through to you.”

“Our dearly beloved School Master,” August says, acerbic. “An artist. Perhaps you should pursue that, instead.”

“I could say the same about you, my dearly beloved Seer,” Rafal laughs. He seems happy to have gotten a rise out of August at all.

They pause just in front of the wall. August brushes his fingers over the carvings with a gentle touch; the carved knights cough and cry as he does. It’s good workmanship. Rafal has had a hundred years to improve on it, after all. But it’s not a very pleasant experience.

He says as much. “It’s not supposed to be,” Rafal replies, “they’re Evil.” He guides August to a carving of… some monster, or another, one that roars under his touch, spitting a burst of burning sparks. August tugs his hand back reproachfully. Rafal laughs, again.

“I’ll enchant something nicer for Good,” he promises. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Our first Good Seer in generations. Our first Seer with any sort of allegiance.” His voice strays dark as he completes the thought.

“You know very well why I have an allegiance,” August says mildly. It’s his duty; to kill Rafal. There is only one way this story ends.

“We could have been such good friends,” Rafal sighs. “You and I. But then I suppose we would have no reason to be.” He hooks his arm through August’s once again. They play at closeness, the two of them. Or Rafal does, at any rate.

They move to the crystal freizes, on Good’s side of the Theatre. They must be lovely, like everything to do with Good is. The stained glass is pleasantly cool under August’s fingers; he makes out the outline of a rose in bloom.

“I’m thinking of having them bloom as the students enter,” Rafal says idly. “No monsters here.”

“You just resent that Good keeps winning,” August sighs.

“I do,” Rafal admits openly. He has nothing to hide from August. He could not, either way. “There are more carvings, lower down, if you care for them.”

August nudges at the base of the wall with his cane, curious; he kneels to feel the raised patterns. Textured feathers. There, a wing, another. Borne in flight.

“Swans,” Rafal provides. Of course. He’s more predictable than he thinks.

August moves his cane along the wall, then starts walking back towards the other side, cane knocking against the continuous loop of carvings. Twin swans hewn all around the Theatre. A reminder of a promise unfulfilled.

Rafal doesn’t usually care so much.

But, of course, this Circus is special.

“This will be the tale to end all tales,” the School Master says, almost to himself. “Won’t it, August?”

“I don’t take questions,” August says.

“This is what you’re here for, after all,” Rafal continues, as if August had never spoken at all. “What role are you going to play, I wonder? Will we have to be enemies?”

This is the second to last time they will ever meet each other. August has spent years knowing Rafal, years with the idea of him— the shadow of him— living in his head. It was never going to amount to anything more than this.

Will he fly free, out of this gilded cage? Or has he sworn himself to Rafal, and his tale, and his end? You go on, no matter the cost. Seers don’t speak of costs, they only speak of duty.

Either way, both of them are trapped.

“You know,” Rafal says. Almost wistful. “You know, if I had the chance, I would want it to be you.”

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 5: Strange Music

"So, what happened when was dead?" Dean turns the wheel, leaving the Montgomery house behind.

Sam sighs, "A lot... I wasn't handling things well, trying to bring you back, trying to get revenge, even if it killed me."

"Sammy,"

"I know, I know... I got too close and I couldn't win, couldn't get out and Ruby—"

"Ruby! ?"

"Yes, Dean, Ruby. She rescued me and convinced me to do some f-ed up stuff. You need power to go after something like Lilith. She had ways to get that power..."

"Sammy..."

"I don't want to tell you what I did. I will, if you really want me too..."

"I don't... how bad, Sam? Like bad bad? Like killing babies bad?"

"Like, rationalizable bad. Sort of bad that seems okay when you're not thinking super clearly. Not like killing babies bad."

"Alright... that's... I mean it's not good, but..."

"Yeah, and well, I was there, doing that for a few months, then... I got in over my head again. I don't know where Ruby was, she didn't show up. I got out, but it was close, and I was hurt, bad.

"Hospital bad, and that's where I met Jazz."

"You met your girlfriend in the hospital."

"We haven't labeled anything, Dean, she's not my girlfriend."

"Suuure she's not."

"Anyway the demon wasn't done with me, and showed up there and Jazz exercised it from her coworker and,"

"And a new woman saves you from yourself again."

Sam scoffs but doesn't deny it. "It wasn't just her. One day she insisted I take someone with me."

"Danny?"

"Sam."

Dean turned to look at his brother. 

"First it was Samantha Manson, don't call her Samantha, then Tucker Foley, Valerie Gray. Then Danny. They all work differently, but all really differently than Dad. It was... something new, something interesting enough to distract from my suicide mission... and then they found out what I was doing…”

Dean can imagine it, even without specifics, he'd be furious.

"The first question was if I was okay.” Sam continued. Oh. “If I needed it to survive... Like I was Jack Montgomery, another monster trying my best to stay human... and they were only half wrong."

"Sammy… you're not a―"

"You said Mom made a deal, that actually makes a lot more sense than anything I could come up with..."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not human in the same way I used to be..." Dean isn't sure how to respond to that. He wishes he wasn't driving so he didn't have to watch the road.

"What does that mean..."

"The" Sam sighs, "The ESP stuff, it was stronger then, because I was pushing it to be stronger. But when I stopped... it was like a combination of withdrawal and starvation… They wouldn't let me go cold turkey, the first attempt nearly killed me."

"So, what? You're dependent on some witchcraft now, Sammy?"

"Not witchcraft, no. And we're figuring it out."

"Figuring it out how?"

"Tracking and experimentation. They've got this whole lab thing,"

"You're you, Sam! You're not Jack, you're human!"

"I'm not, Dean. They did a DNA test and everything.” Sam snaps. “And maybe, maybe, if I'd been smarter back then it never would've manifested, maybe it started with the visions, I don't know! I just know that I have to live with it, okay?!"

Dean sighed. "You're not a monster."

"I'm a person." Sam asserted. And of course he is, but Dean doesn't like the way he said it, like one doesn't undo the other… But at the same time, he remembers holding the knife in his hand, he remembers using it. He remembers the screams, the begging. He remembers justifying the action because his victim was in hell too, and they must've done something to deserve it. Rationalizable bad, not like killing babies bad, but that didn't make it right.

"You are a person." Dean agrees.

---

The apartment building Sam has Dean park in front of is normal, sickeningly normal, the kind of normal that Sam's last girlfriend dripped in. Dean doesn't make a face. He knows how his brother gets about normal. 

Somehow it didn't occur to him that he should worry about what it would be like if Jazz hung onto the same fantasy? Did she forbid talk of hunting at the dinner table and try to pretend, just like Sam had, that her past was a fiction? 

He stepped towards the building.

"Dean." Sam asked, "Where are you going?"

He turns... he realizes they're just parking here because the world's most butchered RV is taking up the entire driveway. The building proudly labeled 'FENTONWORKS', the building with a friggin spaceship-satelight-bunker thing on the top of it, was obviously where they were going.

Dean looks up at the thing, wondering how in the world their neighbors haven't thrown a fit.

"Sammy, what. is. that?"

"That's the Op's center. It can be deployed into a blimp in emergencies."

" Really ?" What emergencies would require a blimp? How do you protect a blimp against the supernatural? 

Sam sighs, "That's what they tell me, I am not entirely certain they aren't just messing with me."

"Uh-huh," Dean says, because if anything could deploy into an airship, it would be that. But a blimp ?

Sam pulls him along, insisting that they'll be more than happy to show him if he's interested. Dean wants to look at the RV, which up close looks more like it's been armor plated. And that can't be street legal, but it does look useful!

Sam doesn't bother knocking, and Dean's about to make a joke about how he and his girlfriend ‘haven't labeled anything,’ but then he realizes they're walking into some kind of weird lobby, not Jazz's house.

Okay, so they take the FentonWorks stuff seriously. Good to know... 

"Welcome to FentonWork's how can I— oh, hey Sam. Glad you're not dead." He doesn't think the dark skinned woman at the counter is Danny's older sister. Like yes, adoption is a thing. But also her hair is short enough and the tank top and the durable looking jacket with a burn mark... the whole look screams 'I don't date men.' Which maybe could explain the not labeling… Yes, Dean knows this as a form of self defense. Yes, he did deserve it.

His first theory is confirmed when Sam greets her. "Hey, Val."

"Who's your friend?" She asks as they make their way to the counter.

"My brother."

"Dean? Or do you have more than one."

"Yeah, I'm Dean." He leans against the counter, testing his second theory. She spritzes him with water, from a squirt bottle, like he's a cat. He hasn't even said anything yet!

"We already did that." Sam tells her. Ah, holy water. This again. That made more sense.

She spritzes Sam for good measure. Was this just going to be their life now? 

"Danny gave his stamp of approval." Dean tells her.

"Where is he then?" 

Dean looked at Sam, Sam looked at him. Probably shouldn't mention the Coconut Vampires, right? Or did she already know about them?

The silence ticked past acceptable and into awkward. Dean wasn't answering this, Sam opened his mouth and closed it. 

"Correct, answer." Val tells them, "It's not a great test, telling me isn't telling somebody else, but still, right answer."

"Right... is Jazz here?

"Upstairs,"

"Thanks Val,"

"Yeah, thanks Val," Dean smirks at her, she rolls her eyes. Turns back to... assembling a really big gun behind the counter. Huh.

Photos line the walls of the stairs. Childhood's of people Dean has never met... Sam points out some pictures, little Jazz plays with little Ellie, Danny with friends. It's sweet, and Dean wishes he could turn off the hunter in his mind, but he can't.

There is not a single family portrait. Sure there's a dozen group sibling photos, a lot more as they get older, there's a lot with friends, but there are no photos with their parents. There are several that look like the parents may have been physically cut out of the pictures. Again, Dean can't help but think of Sam, and his rocky relationship with Dad. They don't have a pretty wall of memories, but if they did... which would Sam remove? 

The other thing is more subtle, and he only catches it because he's looking for things to make fun of the kid for. There are very few pictures with Danny and Ellie together. When he looks again its more obvious that something's off because Jazz ages consistently across the stairs but when he looks back it's like the middle child barely existed and when he does appear Ellie's pictures fade out. Until their early teens when all three show up.

There's a thousand possible explanations. So he doesn't ask, but he does wonder if changelings ever take the forms of entirely new kids. If Danny had fed from his parent's synovial fluid until finding some substitute and releasing the kid he'd replaced... Dean hadn't been around adult changelings enough to know if they could change the vibes of a room, but the younger ones could certainly be unsettling... 

If he asked, would Danny tell him?

But Dean is sidetracked by the handful of pictures as they approach the top of the stairs. Sam is in the next few, grinning wide and happy, looking disgruntled over a card game, pointing a shotgun at a Thanksgiving turkey— Wait. What?

He looks to Sam who shakes his head with a laugh. 

"They're going to get you with that prank too."

"What prank? It's a turkey!"

Sam laughs harder and tries to leave Dean in the stairway. "That doesn't make any sense. Sam! Get back here."

In the struggle, because he. did. Not. want. to fall for whatever the turkey prank was, he sorta forgot why they had come up the stairs... like he didn't forget forget. He just forgot enough to try to wrestle his brother to the ground in a strangers house and not see anything wrong with it until Sam says "Hi Jazz,"

She's tall, while her brother was a half-head shorter than Bobbie, Jazz is just slightly looking down on Sam. Even after he stands. Dean's brain sticks on it for a long moment. Enough time for her to hug Sam, kiss him on the cheek and turn to Dean.

"You must be Dean, I've heard a lot about you,"

"And you're Jazz," he greats, "I have not heard nearly enough!"

Jazz laughs, invites them over to the couch and puts away her book. And they talk, and they don't talk about hunting but they don't have to dance around it either. He can tell embarrassing stories about Sammy without having to explain why they were making their own silver bullets, and she can match them with stories of her own. The time for dinner rolls around and Sam-who's-not-Samantha appears to force Jazz and Sammy out of the kitchen, only to get completely sidetracked by the appearance of Tucker (who apparently is allowed to cook for visitors, but not at the same time as Sam #2). Val (who's name is Valerie it's unclear which he should call her) makes dinner while the pair argues. Danny shows up just in time to silence the food argument by threatening something about ectoplasm. Which everyone is in agreement. It is disgusting, why is he bringing it up in a conversation about food? They leap at the chance to explain old jokes, while leaving enough as mysteries to laugh at him not knowing, and two can play at that game because he and Sam have more than enough inside jokes.

At some point, Ellie calls Danny ‘template’ and throws a wrench in his changeling theory. Wasn't she the original? Her pictures are older. And he does ask her, and she laughs and laughs and does a bit about it that Danny gracefully plays into. It leaves Dean even less clear on what they are (and it is both of them, he couldn't tell you how he knows).

But he does know, just like he knew they'd return to Ellen and Jo and Ash at the Roadhouse, that even if Sam and Jazz never label things that they'll return to FentonWorks. He just hopes it doesn't end the same way.

---

In the morning, Dean's about to test if he can cook without getting shooed out of the kitchen… and there's this envelope.

It sits innocently on Jazz's table. Its bright pristine white stands in stark contrast to the yellowing books that surround it. It draws his attention from the other end of the room.

It's addressed to Daniel J. Fenton. The line below is not written in English, not written in any script Dean recognizes. (Which says something. No, he can't read most of those languages, or tell you what they are. But he'd recognize the symbols if he'd seen them before.) Jazz snatches it from the table and disappears down the hall without a word.

He doesn't think much of it, except to note that the paper must've been really white, because Jazz's books are not yellowing. Then, a minute later Danny is scrambling down the stairs, letter scrunched in his hand, still putting on his jacket. "Hi, Dean! Bye, Dean!"

Then he's out the door. Dean looks at Valerie who hasn't kicked him out of the kitchen, but is watching him like he's taking some sort of exam. He is unclear on if she lives here or not.

"Don't ask."

Dean doesn't ask either question.

---

"So, four people have gone missing in the last week, all from this neighborhood, all last seen around the same abandoned house." Sam tells him from the Impala's passenger seat. 

They stayed for a few days, but Jazz had her residency, Danny had vanished and Valerie had either gone home or out on a hunt. Tucker and Sam-who-was-not-Samantha were still there, and he was unclear on where they lived too, but as comfortable as his brother is sharing space with them… they were strangers still.

Sam had noticed his discomfort, and they'd taken to the road again.

Dean looks over at this house, it was almost a small mansion, even if it had seen better days. "Sure looks old enough to have some ghosts."

---

They don their FBI disguises and make their way to the homes of the missing. The same story for the first three.

They "heard strange music." and decided to find it. The older man was furious at the local teens, he went to tell them off and disappeared. The next two, a mother and her 7 year old son.  The son had gone off first, entranced by the songs. His mother vanished shortly after going to look for him, following the music.  The forth was actually a musician, who tried for days to recreate what he heard, and after failure after failure he went looking for the source. The thing that confirms it's their business, the families, the roommates, they'd stand right next to the missing people and would hear nothing while the now-missing heard an impossible melody.

They're theorizing, the spirit of a conductor, Pied Piper, possibilities of land sirens, when they see the house with a cop car parked outside. The officer is already returning to it. They'll have to come back later to check but— Sam steps in the direction of the officer. He speaks before Dean can ask him what he's doing.

"Are you sectioned?" Sam asks the man. 

"Who the—"

"Section 31, have you signed it?"

The man's eyes go wide. "No. Who are—"

"If there's someone in your department who has, put them on this."

"I... you think this is a weird one?"

"We do."

"I've only done interviews, I haven't seen—"

"We're not concerned with who has what paperwork. We just want this handled."

"You're not..."

"White jackets make good targets these days." Sam tells him. "You won't see that in the field anymore."

"Right..."

Then Sam asks him about the "strange music case." The information's nothing new, same tale as the others but with a new name and new reason but the officer doesn't question it when they start asking the weird things. 

Dean looks at his brother, who doesn't need to be asked. "So, we found out about some stuff while you were in Hell."

"I gathered that!” Dean tries not to sound gleeful. That was so easy compared to normal.

"Turns out, the government isn't as in the dark as they seem to be."

"Sammy, if you're about to tell me that we could've avoided the whole fugitives thing..."

"Probably not, it's not exactly set up well... what happens, is if they encounter something that's our thing, they're basically made to sign this whole thing saying they won't ever talk about it. But it's just if they encounter something. Not if they beat it or know what it is, just if they witness it. But everyone knows that the things that make you sign it are dangerous. So, nobody wants to be involved with anything touching those cases. You walk into a scene asking if anyone is sectioned, and ask if they saw anything Weird ." Sam puts a careful emphasis on the word. "They tend to give you free reign."

"Do they all forget to check your ID?"

"No, but they don't get huffy about jurisdiction, and don't ask if you're crazy."

"That is useful ."

"Very. Though if they have a sectioned officer already it can be kinda hit or miss."

"Like they don't know what they're doing or..."

"Sometimes, or they think they do, or you have to wait for the body to be officially exhumed before you can salt and burn. Which is fine when you can put police tape around the haunting."

"Huh,"

"It's been different."

"You said something about white jackets?"

"Yeah, they tried to pull together this taskforce, a bunch of sectioned from all over. They wore white jackets, got nicknamed the Guys in White. It fell apart. There's not much to go off of. Everything concrete is in a highly classified document. Surviving members got sorted back into whatever agency made the most sense, but the rumors still float around. Mentioning it helps sell the story."

---

The house is old but well kept. It's empty and dusty, but there's no broken glass or other hazards that some abandoned places have. Not that it will necessarily stay that way if the spirit gets angry, but not having to worry about rolling onto a needle or broken bottle when you're dodging a falling light fixture: always preferable. On the downside, the house is big. There are lots of rooms with big closets and adjoining bathrooms, and hallways that snake around the building.  

Sam yells, some point after another empty room comes up clean. "Dean!"

"You find something?!"

"Here! The garage."

Dean follows the direction of Sam's voice and finds the open door. The garage would be nice, clean concrete floors, a pegboard to hang everything up. But it was hard to look past the horror display in the middle of the room. It was hard to tear your eyes off it, so out of place in this space.

The horror is an ugly neon green and construction orange van with a splattered 'FENTONWORKS' on the side. It's a horrible van. Danny's horrible van.

"How did he find us?"

"I think he was here first..." Sam tried the handle, locked. 

"So... where is he?"

Sam knocked loudly on the side. "Don't look at me like that. He might be asleep in there!"

"In the middle of a haunting?!"

"I don't know, he might be!"

Sam thought the kid might take a nap around a ghost. Dean... he really wishes he could refute that, but who knows, maybe the ghost already had its hug, cried things out and got sent through its mystery door?! Pounding on the van doesn't work, so they resort to breaking into it. 

The van is weird on the inside too. Work equipment on one side, the kid's house on the other side, everything somehow both carefully organized and a chaotic mess. Dean can't tell the hunting stuff from the electrician stuff which is probably the point, but there's a cubby where the Kid sleeps and Dean understands a lot better why he didn't get his own room at the motel. The freezer is still running somehow, despite the vehicle being silent as the dead. 

The longer he was in here the more he felt like he was intruding. 

"What's this? Sam held up an envelope. The bright paper almost glowed in the dim light.

"I've seen that," Dean takes it, sure enough, it's the same envelope. "This was at Jazz's, she gave it to Danny and the kid ran out. She said not to ask."

"We should call her. Or Bobby?"

"Yeah."

They shuffle out of the van and freeze.

"Dean, do you hear that?"

"Yeah."

It was strange music.

And it was close, coming from the room they had left. 

They turn to see light from what had been that had been dim at best, mumbled cacophony of voices overlapping from what had been silent.

They should run. They should break through the garage door and call Bobby. Dean doesn't dare suggest it, they've been invited after all, it would be rude to decline such an invitation.

The insanity of that thought hits him the second he's through the door, but the dealing with insanity in front of him is first. Its move or be crushed by the crowd. He almost trips over someone's tail. Tail? Someone has a tail. The twirling girl? to his right has skin the color of the sky and he's pushed against a tall being with four arms and fur. It huffs a sound Dean won't try to describe and keeps him from falling. 

He moves, scooting through the dance's  movement trying to find Sam.

He cranes his head around but sees fabrics, scales, feathers, gemstones that follow inhuman dancers. Some of these people are flying on crystal wings! Some are just dancing as if the air was the floor. He can barely find the door they came from, let alone his brother in his distinctive not-eyeseeringly-colored Carhartt. But he can't focus on that and not getting crushed at the same time. 

It would be easier if he could predict the beat of the music. It's rhythm shifts and changes and the monsters around him add their own notes. Light whistling from the little flying glowstick things, deep growls from the tall scaled people, several times one or another of the dancers will pull him along with them when he missteps. Theyl keep him from crushing the little things too. He didn't even realize they were there. It takes a minute to realize that they are steering him out of the dance. He'd be offended if he wasn't relieved. 

Once free, he stands there and catches his breath and debates if it's worth making a salt circle. It might stop the transparent things, but he has no idea about the other monsters... and well, nothing has been directly threatening yet... and Dean thinks a circle of salt on the floor might offend some of them...

"Dean?" He turns, Sam is behind him. Thank all that is Holy and good. Actually Castiel probably fell into that and he hadn't helped at all so nevermind.

"Sammy, we found the Monster Mash."

" Dean ."

"Do you think that's the Graveyard Smash?"

"Other way around, the Mash is the dance."

"Really? Huh... what are you wearing?" When did he have time to change?! Where did he get the suit? It was nicer than their FBI disguises, and dark blue, and with flowers stitched around the buttons in a way that almost managed to not be girly. A matching leather strap hung Sammy's iron crowbar behind his back in a way that looked nice. Like crowbars were normal accessories to wear with suits, and not tools for breaking into buildings.

"What are you wearing?" Sammy shot back, and oh, hell no. He looked down, dreading a matching outfit. And, huh, he actually looked pretty cool, his jacket is longer, more of a coat... He looks kinda like a pirate in one of those movies, only less dirty and more like he planned on going to a party like this. His guns and knives hang from their own decorative belts, but he can reach them easily.

"We need to get out of here." Dean decides, the pattern on one of the belts changes. Just as he'd thought it looked too flowery, the flowers vanished and the leaves rewove themselves, pattern still pressed into leather. 

"I don't know..."

"You don't know? What do you want to dance with a mermaid first?" The mermaid, swimming in midair, tipped her head at them. She waited, when they didn't respond she swam on.

"No, Dean, we just don't know if we can get back here. We need to find our people."

"How do we do that?" 

---

They quickly learn not to lose sight of each other. The dance floor is not a set location. Dean doesn't know how these things know where they're supposed to stand if they want to talk, but they do. Dean shoves through the crowd. Sam's grip on his forearm is tight enough to bruise, but Dean's glad for it. He'll know if his brother lets go. 

They have to force their way into the dining room. (They need to know the civilian's haven't become dinner. If these things are eating people, then they might just have to start a fire?)

There's no obvious signs. No bones sticking out or skulls for decoration. The food isn't right though, the radioactive looking dishes that make the normal stuff feel dangerous, and they still don't know where they are.

Sam lingers. Reaching for a plate.

"Dude, come on!

Sam shakes himself out of it. They leave that room immediately. Though they left through the same door, they exit into an entirely new wing of the house.

From there progress stagnated. Wondrous sites stop being wonderful quick when you're aware of exactly how trapped you are.

"We need a plan."

"The walls move, usual maze tactics aren't going to work..." Sam mutters... "Maybe we try asking?"

"Ask the monsters?"

"I mean, they haven't done anything yet..."

They argued, but it wasn't like Dean had a better idea. 

They approach a woman made of flowing silvery material, lurking on the side of the main room. 

"You're humans." She points out with more than a little suspicion. "I don't think I caught your names,"

Sam elbows him before he can elbow Sam. Yeah, that's a trap! 

"You can call us humans, that works." The woman frowns. "We were actually wondering where the exit is...?"

"The party has only just begun," she says sweetly, her smile revealing the wrong number of teeth. Or maybethe right number of teeth for metalic people. "It would be rude to leave so soon, don't you think?"

Dean grips the handle of his knife, the iron knife, but he doesn't act, if it would be rude to leave, attacking her is definitely worse.

"Those are humans." Another creature joins their group. Its large animal features and white fur... it's a yeti, a yeti walks up and stares down at the silver lady. Dean grips the knife tighter.

"Yes, they do seem to be,"

"Were you returning them to their keeper?"

"Uh, I don't think we—" Sam started.

“Great One!” The Yeti bellows.

 "I told you not to call me that!" Someone shouts back from a room away.

"Then what shall I call you instead? Peacebringer, Pariah's Bane, Keeper of Amity's Gate..." the list continued. The silver woman, apparently recognizing these names, flees onto the dance floor.

"Cracklepaw." The new figure slides down the stairs. And the yeti, Cracklepaw? shuts its mouth. 

Danny also got the supernatural party upgrade too, only his are more medieval themed. Tunic and leather armor, long dark cloak that somebody dipped in glitter. Party also decided to bleach his hair for some reason, and Dean reaches up to check that nothing weird happened to his. (There's not, at least that he can tell.)

More importantly, he's got the missing kid on his back (he's wearing a very nice dinosaur costume) and the missing mother is trailing closely behind in sharp business casual.

"I only claim like, 10% of those names." He tells them, before realizing who they are. "Sam! Dean! How'd you guys get here?"

"Working a case." Dean says, like that wasn't obvious? 

"This is not a case, this is a thinking building getting too ambitious." He pats the wall, "No offense."

The staircase he'd arrived on retreats. Danny catches the arm of the woman, keeping her from falling. No, Dean has no idea where it went.

"A thinking building." Sam repeats. That sounds a lot like something that should be a case to Dean. He doesn't say so, because he's not stupid and they've been trapped in here long enough without offending it, but if people are getting lost in here... yeah, it's a case.

"Yeah, it happens sometimes.”

“And the rest of this?!” Dean demands. 

“Not the Autumn Court.” Danny says.

“Nor the Winter.” Cracklepaw says sadly. 

“Only a few more months though,” 

“Indeed! It will be the talk of the infinite! We have been planning for—”

The woman who wasn't missing anymore― Sarah, if Dean remembers right― clears her throat.

The Yeti turns its whole body, aghast at the interruption.

“Sorry, my bad, I was helping these two find the door.” Danny adds.

“Perhaps another time then,”

“Of course, and Cracklepaw,”

“Yes, Great One?” 

Danny glares, “If they hold their party on the fringes of worlds, I will spend half the thing ducking out just like this one.”

“As is your nature,” the yeti allows. Danny bows, sending the kid on his back into giggles. Cracklepaw bows lower, and the Danny's face twists into exasperation.

“Right! Anyway, this way.” Danny gestures to the corridor Dean and his brother just left . “Are you guys staying? You know the rules?”

“Rules?” Sam asks

“We're not staying.”

“We're not staying.” Sam echos, they follow him through into another space pretending to be a normal hallway.

“I want to stay!” the little boy announces. And where the hallway was, there's now a wall. Dean half swears, but neatly turns it into the word fudge. Sarah? glares at him. 

“You can't stay, you're going to your grandma's on Sunday.” Danny reminds the kid. 

“Oh… can't they come here?”

“No… it would hurt grandma's hearing aids.” She lies. But the boy must believe it, because he pouts and the wall disappears. 

They continue in silence through the next passages, though it isn't quiet. High notes are only slightly muffled as they sing of leaves turning and falling and rotting. The things that will devour the rot hum a deep harmony that twists and becomes the new song. The things that prepare for slumber will depart soon, and Dean is tired enough that he almost counts himself among them. He won't be able to sleep a full season, but he thinks he might try, and when he makes that choice the rhythm becomes easier to follow.

 “So, there are rules to this place?” Sam asks, and Dean misses a step. He scowls, trying to figure out why Sam thought it was appropriate to interrupt… but… why he did he think it was inappropriate?

“Don't eat the food, don't drink the wine, but water should be fine.” Danny almost sings. “Give nothing your name, take nothing you can't give, and don't” he speaks fast to force the words into the rhythm. “make metaphysical bargains unless you're good at wordplay.”

He turns to look at them, and says normally. “They aren't demons, catch ‘em with a pun and they'll think it's so novel they won't bother with revenge, usually. Be nice about it.”

“So this place… it's fae― Fair folk!” Sam caught himself. 

“That is a very broad term, Sam.” Danny might be warning. 

“How do you know where we're going?”

“You can't tell?”

“How would I know?!”

“It's that way, isn't it?” Dean asks. 

“Uh-huh.”

“How? Why didn't you say something?!”

“I couldn't earlier, just since the ‘get ready for hibernation’ verse started.”

“Big. Mood.” Danny interrupts whatever Sam was about to say. “I would love a nap right now.”

“Me too.” Sighs Sarah.

“No!” Screams the child, and again the house decides it's not having a guest forced to leave.

He hates it here.

――

The hibernation song ends and another begins. Dean can't place the words in the drumbeat, he catches enough to realize it's something about successfully avoiding hunters, and he no longer wonders why he can't grasp it. 

The next is in the language of the trees and it makes so little sense that Dean loses his sense of direction again, but it's fine, because Danny apparently understands it. 

The child redirects them twice and by the time the air fills with songs of dirt they've found the front door. 

It opens easily, and the world goes silent as the dead. Dean turns, expecting to find everyone staring at them, furious and horrified that they'd leave so blatantly, but behind them is only an empty dark house. 

“You can find your way home from here?”

“Yes.” The mother takes her child from Danny's back. “Should we do introductions now, or…”

“Probably not, it's influence lingers… go home, eat normal food, sleep, it will feel like a dream.”

“Right…” She doesn't linger, taking her son's hand and nearly dragging him away. 

“They aren't the only ones.” Sam tells him.

“Oh, I know. I'm gonna spend the next week bargaining for some guy's name and the musician guy keeps trying to steal an instrument. It's a whole thing.” He complained. “ I’ve got it though, if you guys want to stay in the real?”

Dean was sure he wanted to leave, right up until he'd crossed back into the cold night air. His ears still rang with the emptiness that strange music should fill. Sam didn't answer tight away either.

“You're both Once-Dead it's your right.”

“No…  I’m good… Dean?” Sam looked at him, and Dean knew there'd be no judgment if he said yes.

“No.” He can't. He's human, he doesn't belong there.

"Once-Dead… is that… what you are?" Dean finally asks.

Danny laughs, “Oh, I’m much more dead than that. If you figure it out, let me know."

"Oh come on—"

"I'm serious. All I know is I died and I came back wrong. Died again, back again.”

"I've seen you handle salt, silver, iron."

"Cutting off my head and staking me into my coffin didn't do much either." Danny tells him, and Dean flinches. He knows that's what you do, but the idea of doing it to Danny... "Or cutting out my heart or other organs. The scars didn't even stick."

"Who?"

"My parents."

"Your parents." Dean repeats, thinking of his Dad's demon deal, of the time Sammy begged him to kill him because he was losing control to the demon possessing him. And Dean almost asks what Danny could've possibly done to deserve that. Almost, because Dean's never met the Fenton Parents and he knows what Danny does now. If there was an atrocity before, does that make a difference?

"Jazz dealt with them." Danny tells him, assuming Dean's silence is something else entirely.

"Good." Dean says, and he's not completely sure if he's telling the truth.

[museofmadness]

midnight hour.

fandom | supernatural (2005, tv show).

content | dean is feeling a weird feeling inside his chest, and decides to eat a snack while understanding the reasoning behind it.

warnings | cursing, kind of fluffy, dean being the best big brother of the entire world.

characters | dean winchester

rating | +14

length | 702 words.

— — —

It was nearly three a.m when Dean Winchester, while pouting at the ceiling, got up and climbed out of his bed.

Feeling uneasy and kind of restless, he stepped out of the room leaning against the white walls, and headed towards the empty kitchen at turtle pacing, hearing the irregular almost worrisome beatings of his heart. Something was… off. Queering. Alien-like. He didn't know the wheres, the hows and wherefores of that feeling, but he knew, at his core, that there was something wrong brewing inside; missing, even.

Like an unfinished puzzle he had left behind.

Except, of course, he didn't; as brute as he normally was, even him knew that cases going unsolved only meant trouble in the end — for him, for those innocent lives that he could not save, for his family… he stopped abruptly at the kitchen door. With a heavy sigh and a few tappings, he found the room’s switch and turned on the lightning, getting a good view of the whole place. Again, the weird feeling inside his chest hummed like an angry bird, and he stepped inside, begrudgingly, grabbing bacon and a frying pan.

“Fuck this”, he said under his breath, angrily throwing the meat all over the pan; turning the stove on, he suddenly spit on the floor, placing aftewards the pan over the range. “Fuck this all.”

He waited a few good minutes before his little night snack was ready. While on it, against all his best wishes, his mind begun to delve in the feeling, the oddness of it all, trying to find a meaning or a source to that awful throbbing inside his chest; nothing came to him like an old friend.

It was despicable.

He had never been the type of guy whose pastime was a chunk of Plato and Socrates type of crap, so, when he did it, he wanted to get an answer to all his stupid questions. It was the bare minimum, in his humble and very right opinion. Honestly, he didn't know how Sam did it — it seemed to much, even for a brainy guy like him. Dean sighed and shut off the stove.

“Snacking time”, he sang.

While filling his plate, he heard a sound coming from the front door; someone was coming in. Alert and ready for battle, he reached for a knife. Whoever it was, it was going to die. A bloody death, a violet death, a very gory death, a-

Sam came in, waving a hello.

“Is that for me?” He asked, half-smiling. His greenish brown eyes sparkled with boyish playfulness. It was cute. Relaxing his tense muscles, Dean placed the knife on the table. Sam sat in one of the chairs, “If it is for me, wait until I'm rested, please. Yo man is in serious need of a vacation here.”

Dean chuckled, sitting in front of him. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea, dude; those faeries are absolute psychos! And, I’m not quite sure, but I”, he yawned, stretching his arms over his head, “think I'm freaking married to the queen of them.”

Dean laughed over his pained expression. It was so, adorably cute. Sam yawned again; Dean offered him his food, already knowing the answer, “Nah, I'll pass, man. I don't eat meat, you know that — besides, I'm almost dead here. I'm going to bed. Night.”

Dean wished him good night, and concentrated on finishing his bacon. He was quick, eating everything in less than ten minutes and humming a song to himself. It felt good and he was full, and ready to go back to sleep. Switching off the lights and heading to his room, he knocked at Sam’s door to check on him one more time. Sleeping like he was dead, he made noises from his open mouth, and Dean didn't hold the smile that tore through his lips. It was wearing that smile that he went to his room; it was wearing that smile that he climb to his bed, and got under the blanket; it was wearing that smile that he drifted away to a place in his dreams, and realised that that weird, strange-like feeling was absolutely gone.

— — —

last words...

so, hi. thanks for reading this until the end. i’m in a really weird place about writing lately and wanted to do something short and simple with the man that lords over my life. i hope you liked it the way i have enjoyed writing it, and if you do, please like, comment and all the usual things :) hope to see again! til there — yours truly, mia.

interactions from: @handwrittengal

[eisforeidolon]

Question: So what personality trait from yourselves did you bring to Sam and Dean, and what personality traits from Sam and Dean did you take to yourselves?

Jared: [to Jensen, away from mic] That's a great question.

Jensen: You wanna answer first?

Jared: Uhhhhh. I will say, without - I will say that I am very ... analytical? Like, he [points at Jensen] would tease me often, because I still read instruction manuals, you know? I'll buy an iPhone, and it's my third iPhone, but I'll still -

Jensen: Who reads instruction manuals? That's just a suggestion.

Jared: I still kind of, I find myself a little bit more at home plugged into a book than out and about and maybe I use it as a refuge as well. What did SWs give JP. Um, some pretty awesome hair. Teasing. You know, I think, I think, I will say this, and kind of going back to this room a prior question, honestly I'm grateful that I was able to explore a lot of what loyalty and sacrifice meant. Without actually having to get possessed by Lucifer and die several times and have your brother die several times. So I learned a lot about how to persevere, even if I was only doing it by pretending to be someone who is choosing to persevere. So I guess I learned that perseverance ultimately, in my opinion, is a choice. And I've taken that with me proudly for the last, you know, decade and a half. Yeah.

Jensen: Uh, I would say something that brought, that I kind of brought to Dean from my own personal personality would be a fierce protection of the ones that I love. [Jared nods] And I don't mean that necessarily from a physical standpoint, like sure, if somebody, you know, if [gestures at Jared] we're walking down the street and somebody pushes him and starts barking at him, I'm probably gonna come right over his shoulder with a fist.

Jared: It's happened before.

Jensen: It has happened. But I don't always mean that physically. I can also, like, if somebody is, y'know, badmouthing somebody that I love, then I will wear them down mentally very quickly. And it is something that I will do unwaveringly. I feel like Dean, Dean was very much that as well. I shared that in common with him. Something that I maybe learned from Dean? I think he's - I think after playing that character for 15 years, my temper has shortened? [Jared laughs] Which doesn't play into the being fiercely protective very well, so that's - still trying to balance those things out.

Jared: I think you're just old, man.

Jensen: [loudly] He's not wrong! [both make angry gestures] Uh, yeah, so look I think that he would agree those two characters are still very much alive and living inside of us [Jared mouths yeah, nods] and will forever. When they surface will be what we all I think are waiting to hear and see when that happens and I know that's something he and I want, so.

Jared: We're not gone. We're just dead for now, but we're not gone.

[angelsdean]

im wondering because ive seen a few posts about cas ghosting dean and the only times i can think of that he does that are season 6 fighting the angel war, season 8 running off with the angel tablet, and season 12 going behind his back to steal the colt. which are all situations where hes doing something dean disapproves of/will try to stop him. idk you can debate whether cas was right but it feels very different from this idea that he never answers dean's calls because he just cant be fucked?

ok a few things:

the post was not about the intentions of either character. it was simply highlighting how dean has been "ghosted" and ignored by people he cares about and left to worry for days / weeks / months, not knowing if they were alive or not and how this is a recurring theme in his life. always left waiting and worried / terrified he'll never see someone again. that's all. no one is saying cas is a horrible, Bad, evil, malicious person for doing this or that he ignored dean for the hell of it. simply that his actions, regardless of his reasons, unknowingly hurt dean in a very specific way that mirror's john's actions, unfortunately.

re: intentions, yes most often cas's reasons for not contacting dean are because he's doing something behind the winchester's backs. most often with good intentions! from his POV he thinks he's doing the right thing. cas always wants to take things on himself, and that's part of his own trauma from being seen a tool for heaven for billions of years. he always wants to "prove" his worth. he always wants to come back with a "win" for the winchesters. but that's not something dean puts on him.

and all of those times you listed are times when dean expressed he wanted to help / work together. when cas was fighting his civil war dean asks cas to come to him if he needs help. dean always wants to help / be in the loop so he can help. that's part of why cas fucking off to do his own thing and not telling dean is often perceived as "ghosting." like, good intentions aside, cas often barrels headlong into things that he Knows might not be the "right" thing. Half the time his decisions backfire too. Like going to crowley / opening purgatory + swallowing the souls. running off with the tablet? cas was the one who decided to go off alone and not trust dean. dean wanted cas to stay with them and figure things out together. the colt? dean wanted them to all work together, cas decided to go on his side quest.

back to intentions again, cas always believes he's acting on good intentions, and well, the same could be said about john? like, from john's POV he thought he was doing the right thing, he thought he was keeping his boys safe by keeping them out of the loop. he ignored them for so long in s1 because he didn't want them getting involved. similar to how cas knew dean and sam wouldn't approve of what he was doing or would want to get involved in something cas believed was his job to solve, john also knew dean and sam would want to get involved in the hunt for azazel so he pushed them away and kept them in the dark. he personally had "good intentions" and his "reasons" for ghosting them, but regardless these actions still hurt them. and then add in all the times john failed to check in when they were kids, dean was constantly worrying john could be dead, as a child and as an adult in s1. and living with that kind of constant fear leaves scars imo which unintentionally get reopen every time someone dean cares about goes ghost for whatever reason.

and well, i'd say it hurts even more when it's cas because sure, john's a piece of shit more often than not, but cas is dean's best friend (and love!) and to be ignored / left in the dark when most often dean just wants to know cas is okay or so they can work together to solve whatever problem is going on? it hurts.

so, yes cas had his reasons and his intentions were often good! no one is saying they weren't. but the lack of communication, the bare minimum of any relationship, still hurts dean.

it's not unreasonable for dean to want his best friend to let him know he's okay / alive periodically, especially when they live in a literal supernatural horror fantasy show where they can get dead at any time. i don't think anyone is really saying cas is just ignoring him for no reason. sure he has his reasons. and regardless the lack of communications still hurts.

but also. the miscommunication is very delicious to me personally as a viewer.

tldr: anyways i don't think cas ghosts dean for no reason. i think he has his reasons. and still ghosts him bc he wants to come back with a win / doesn't want dean to get hurt / or stop him. but the ghosting still causes dean to worry / think he's dead / triggers a deep-seated anxiety and fears he's felt his whole life starting with john etc etc

[prettyflyshyguy]

It's wip wednesday motherfuckers and its 3am so you know what that means, here's an unhinged writing excerpt that's barely edited (WOOHOO WE MADE PROGRESS TONIGHT)

“Hey, hey look at me.” Dean’s vision was hazy, but he could see the stranger was tied up the same as he was. Sitting a few feet away in a wooden chair, his mouth was taped over, otherwise he seemed unharmed. His head jerked up at the sound of his voice, he tried to speak but only a muffled cry escaped the tape clamping his mouth shut. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok. Everything’s gonna be ok, help is on its way, I’m gonna get you out–”

“Oh I’m counting on it!”

The stranger whimpered and frantically looked around for the source of the voice that echoed through the room, glancing back at Dean with a harrowing look in his eyes. He rattled the chair he was tied to, the wood scraping on the old floor making a noise that pierced the emptiness of the space. Dean grunted as he felt the sound scrape the inside of his brain, pain throbbing in his temples like a hangover on crack. Great, I’ve been drugged. Despite the discomfort he tried to focus his senses, he could hear the racing heartbeat of the tied up man, but not much else. 

The source of the voice sauntered into the room from a shadowed doorway, her boots crunching on the broken glass and rubble on the floor. The tied up man’s breathing became sharp and shallow, and his heart rate spiked as he watched her pace around the pair slowly. Dean watched her also, noting her attire resembled the crowd from The Black Rose. A tacky leather skirt and jacket combination, dull and dark colours. Her hair was short, one side tucked behind her ear while the other half shadowed one side of her face. She had dyed it black, he could see light organge regrowth peeking in at the roots. She had a gentle face, with a warm smile that contrasted with the black lipstick and panda-like eyeliner that seemed to be the trend as of late. Dusted with freckles, she had a youthfulness about her, but he guessed she was somewhere between the ages of twenty five to thirty five, as the lines that crinkled by her eyes and mouth when she smiled gave him an indication. He considered he might have thought her to be attractive if she was wearing a more palatable getup, though all the people that frequented that bar confounded him. He watched her carefully as she stood behind the man, gripping the back of the chair he was bound two with both hands and settling in a gentle lean hovering over him as he bowed his head in silence. Dean noted that he still only heard one heartbeat in the room.

“The hell’d you do to me?” 

“Just a little dead man’s blood. It’ll wear off soon.” she smiled at him. He examined her face. It was the kind of smile he’d practiced in the mirror. An attempt at faking genuinity. The kind you make when you want something from someone. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, he thought. 

“Oh c’mon you think you hunters are the only ones who are in the know-how?” 

He glared at her in silence, staring up from under his furrowed brow. “Oh don’t be like that, I just want to talk.” she continued to smile. Dean returned the gesture, not attempting to hide that his was fake.

“Ok, sure, let's talk.” He looked down to the stranger sitting under her. He was shivering slightly. “Why’s he all taped up then, huh?”

“He’s not who I wanted to talk to.” the man jerked in his seat, crying out. He sobbed slightly as the woman placed a hand on one shoulder, gripping him tightly. “I just need Max here to prove a point, that’s all.”

“If you so much as scratch him I will kill you.” Dean hissed. 

She laughed. “God, you know I was told you hunters were all the same. And to think, people say we’re the ones who are all alike. I mean seriously. If I wanted him dead, don’t you think he’d be dead by now?” She removed her hand and the man breathed out, slowly looking up at Dean, his eyes pleading for help. Dean flexed the restraints holding his arms to the chair. The rope dug into his wrists and it scratched his skin as he pulled and tugged in protest. The woman smiled wider. 

“I saw what you did to the fridge. Damn waste of good blood.” She walked out of the room, returning a moment later dragging another chair in one hand, and holding a blood bag in the other. She placed the chair next to Dean and Max, settling herself a few feet away from both in a triangular formation. “Especially for someone so hungry.”

She pulled the cap off of the bag, and with unwavering eye contact she stared at Dean as she leant down to take a deep sip. Max whimpered softly as he watched her, too horrified to notice the way Dean stared at the bag. 

She paused for a moment after drinking, savoring the moment before addressing Dean once more, “You are hungry, aren’t you, Mister Winchester?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, “Please, Mister Winchester was my father. Call me Abraham.” his eyes flicked between her face and the blood bag. She watched him with that soft look in her eyes, observing him as he tugged at the rope and shuffled restlessly in his chair. 

“Ooo, I don’t know about that.” she said after a moment. “You seem more like an Edward Dalton type.”

Tilting her head back, she took a deeper drink from the bag. This time, Max watched Dean instead, eyes growing wide as he saw his mouth ajar, eyes fixated on the bag, his body lean forward slightly pulling at the ropes holding him back, as if he was entranced by the sight of the woman partaking in such a disgusting act, or worse, he longed to be in her place. Max sobbed again, and violently shook the seat, the rope cutting his skin as he was tied much tighter to his chair than Dean was.