#the saddest part is that sam winchester would say the same thing

[unhinged-pickle-juice]

Dean meeting Adam is something I think about very often. Because up until then, he knew Sam was the favorite, but that was okay because Dean loved Sam more too. He understood.

Then, he meets Adam and learns that John loved him more than Dean, too. He took him to a Baseball game on his birthday. And that was the moment he realized it was never about Sam, It was Dean.

Dean was only good as a soldier, not a son.

[woundlingus]

Gabriel moments that make me ragingly feral (2)

We get like the tiniest little hit of vulnerability from Gabriel after he’s just been done sitting in the car being yelled at by Dean about family and duty and love, and sure he’s Dean Winchester but you know Gabriel looks at them and sees his brothers, so you could imagine it a little more like Michael snapping at Gabriel that he’s hiding instead of fighting for the family and the people he loves.

Lucifer is coming, he is going to kill everyone you care about whether it’s now or if Gabriel chooses to sack up and do something about it.

There’s something special to me about the relationship between Dean and Gabriel because he addresses the elephant in the room almost immediately. They’re the same, in a great many ways, and that does give Dean the edge to play the moral superiority card here because at this point Dean isn’t talking out of his ass at Gabriel about “doing the right thing” he instead meets him where he is. Family. Your family is inside that building, and they’re going to die.

It is scary, and we’re left on a very despondent scene of Gabriel sitting alone in silence. I’d argue it’s a top contender for saddest Gabriel scenes ever, beat out only by him crying when Lucifer stabs him- but that’s a disgenuine scene in hindsight whereas this scene in the car is all genuine where for the first time we actually get to see Gabriel without an audience. Dean turns his back to leave, and Gabriel reaches out for him. Too coward to say anything the moment passes and he’s forced to sit in silence without the mask on and confront what’s actually happening for the first time.

Maybe he really can’t save Michael and Lucifer. But he can save “Michael” and “Lucifer” (and I don’t mean Sam 👀). He’s not as helpless as he’s let himself believe, actually, he can do a lot just not the one thing he wants most so he previously decided he won’t do anything at all then. Here, he’s forced to confront that, and change something even if it’s profoundly terrifying because of what Gabriel does stand for is love to the detriment of his character then he can also decide to make a change for the exact same motives.

But for a moment, he’s not Loki he’s Gabriel, and the man in front of him flickers between being some asshole mortal and the holy visage of his brother, and he doesn’t want him to go.

Surprise, it’s also (3)

Why am I doing two in one? Well they’re part of the same episode and I think it’s a fun little draw together of the two scenes! Because we’ve already had “Michael” turning up for Gabriel in the car scene with Dean where he’s chided and given a more tough love approach to the situation at hand, and here we have Kali just before that scene with Dean.

To refresh your memory, here in this scene Kali is telling Gabriel that if anyone gets the end the world it’s her personally. Now I don’t know enough about her religion to get into that, but I am going to play into the narrative within Supernatural and it’s Kind Of Problematic but because that’s what the show does, I’m gonna point it out. The show centers around Christianity, obviously. Who else is a world ender? Lucifer.

We have Gabriel and “Lucifer” here. Sweet love, there’s an almost childlike way Gabriel has handled the situation with Kali where he loves her and he believes that she loves him and that’s enough to make a difference here and she won’t hurt him because in a simple world it would! Except she’s not that kind of person, and neither is Lucifer, but Gabriel still doesn’t get that- or doesn’t want to believe in it. Gabriel’s being sweetened, doted on with affection that’s rather patronising. He’s being talked down to here, and he still watches her adoringly. In the end, he’s stabbed with every intention of delivering a killing blow, love is not a factor in this equation because Gabriel is not on Kali’s side.

Gabriel is not on Lucifer’s side, and he can believe in loving his brothers all he likes and in the end it isn’t going to save him. Lucifer is going to strike him with every intention of killing him dead.

Uncoincidentally, Gabriel wriggles his way out of both situations in exactly the same manner. So when RSJ talks about that phone call immediately post hammer of the gods to tell him he’s not dead, this was it! He’s already shown us how he’s going to do it!

Conclusion?

Though I’m not implying any of this on a shipping level, personally for me it’s too shallow of an interpretation to take on such a complex and deep rooted issue on loss, grief and abandonment, you can have fun with this in whatever ways you see fit if you wanna give that guy psychosexual intimacy issues. I personally see it more as Gabriel being unable to grieve, I would argue he’s not even consciously aware of the choices he’s making here because that guy really wants to believe he hates his brothers. But it’s that bitter hatred that keeps him from seeing the truth of his reality, and it keeps him from grieving, keeps him chasing that same dynamic and playing it again the exact same way subconsciously to cling to the deep loss he’s suffered and refuses to acknowledge- to the extent of erasing his own entire selfhood in the hopes of erasing his family along with him. It’s that same naïveté from my last post that’s got him playing out ANOTHER scenario over and over again hoping that if he does just love enough maybe it’ll be different. It’s not. It never will be. He can’t face that.

I don’t think it’s an accident that the people Gabriel draws in the most in his personal life are reflections of the family he misses deeply, and Sam is not a true reflection of Lucifer in any sort of capacity outside of birthright so I simply don’t factor him in here. A guy can claim he’s a runaway and wants nothing to do with his scumbag older brothers, but from where I sit it looks like he misses them an awful lot more than he’d be willing to admit to himself. Here is also where I conclude any Michael=Dean parallels in regards to Gabriel because I don’t think late seasons Dean when we see him again with Gabriel is even remotely the same man and his quest with Gabriel is solely of a selfish nature, there’s nothing Michael or brotherly about him to draw on in those conversations whereas everything Dean says to Gabriel, however cruel, do reflect the larger plot and Gabriel’s internal struggles and ultimate helps him define and better himself under that guidance. But it was cute while it lasted <3

[heyheyloki]

All Because Of You

Summary: The reader goes to find Castiel before the angels get to him.

Castiel x M!Reader

Castiel being human, losing his grace, was perhaps one of the most interesting yet hardest thing you had faced yet. Forget God. Forget Lucifer. Castiel human topped all of those for a simple reason. Now, it was incredibly hard to keep down your own human feelings that had stirred up for him a long time ago, and plus, yanno, all the Angels and Demons on the hunt for this one Angel who rebelled against Heaven and all that.

It's been a few days since you left the bunker to go look for Castiel. Sure, Dean and Sam weren't happy, but you knew you couldn't wait any longer for them. It's been weeks since Castiel went on the run and sitting around doing nothing but worrying about him was not good for your mind. You needed to see him, protect him, and make sure he was safe and by your side.

It took a three days to get to Detroit, the last place anyone saw Castiel or 'Clarence', as he called himself. You got the led from a group of homeless individuals that talked to Cas before he picked up a ride in on a truck that was heading to Detroit. This was probably the hardest part of the search. Lucky for you, growing up with the Winchester boys helped when it came to this kind of situation. Still, with all your skills, it was Detriot. A large city with many people, but the people may be your advantage.

"Excuse me," you hummed out to a man who was currently making burgers on the side of the road. The only thing that led you talking to him was Castiel's vessals love for red meat. Now that he was human, Jimmy was probably talking to him a lot more now. "Have you seen a dark haired, blue hair man around here? He would have probably acted a bit out of it?"

"Uh," the man thought for a moment. "Nah, sorry, no one really comes to mind."

"It's alright, thank you." You sighed, parting from the man and getting back on the move.

You took the rest of the day nonstop looking for Castiel with no leads whatsoever. Person after person either said they didn't remember someone like that, or saw so many people that day that it was impossible to even try to remember one man. This race against the clock was getting harder and harder, and frankly, it was getting irritating. All you wished for was Castiel to be safe. He could be hungry, or homeless--but safe was all you wanted cause in the end you knew you could fix both of this issues--all of his issues-- if you just found him.

As you were deep within your mind to try and make up a new way to find the fallen angel, the rain that touched your skin shoved you back into reality. Your eyes gazed as the raindrops that wet your skin before looking up at the dark clouds that surrounded you. A deep sigh filled with worry released from your lips before taking a few steps forwards. Perhaps those few steps were all you needed. Well, that and the rain. When you took those steps you heard a noise, one that would capture almost anyone’s attention. You paused, stood still before turning your head down an ally that seemed to be behind a restaurant.

Down the dark and rainy ally was a man who wrapped himself with this black hoodie he wore. His hair was soaked, not to mention his clothes, but that freezing cold look in his eyes broke your heart beyond anything you've felt before. The darkness obscured the man's face until you took a few steps down the ally. At first you were going to offer the man some food and direct him to a nearby shelter, but the minute he quickly shot his head up to see who was approaching him, everything changed. No matter how much time apart you have from him, you can never forget his face but you noticed that the first thing to go about a person was their voice. You thought that was the saddest thing to ever exist but when you heard it call out to you of all people, remembering his voice again was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

"[Name]?" Castiel croaked out.

You didn't speak but instead nodded to confirm it was you, and not a part of his imagination.

With the weather, you didn't waste any time to get both Castiel and you some shelter. A few minutes of pretending to be someone else and using another's money got you a relatively small but sufficient apartment for the time being.

When Castiel entered the apartment was dark given the time of day, but you quickly turned on the lights after you shut and locked the front door.

"Wow, it’s beautiful." Castiel commented as he looked around.

"It's an apartment that cost a 2,000 dollar deposit, it better be beautiful." You replied as you began to lock and shut all the entrances which included the windows as well.

Castiel kept his eyes on you as you did so, but when he noticed you were finished with your task he asked, "How did you find me?"

You turned to him and placed your hands into your pockets. "Oh, yanno, all my hunter skills went into work and here I am."

"Why aren't Sam and Dean with you?" He asked curiously.

You sighed at the question before taking a seat on the sofa that was provided with the apartment. "I didn't want to wait around. They thought it was dangerous, and it probably was but I don't know, I just couldn't stand being in that bunker wondering if you’re alive or dead."

Castiel's head went down for a moment, his own human mind now spinning with thoughts he wondered if he would ever have if he was still an angel.

"I apologize for worrying you." He suddenly said in more quiet tone. "That was never my intention."

"I know." You smiled before patting down the space next to you. "Come sit and lemme see what you got there."

Castiel's head went on a tilt before he remembered the wound he had on his left upper arm he got from fighting one of the many angels that were out on the hunt for him. The former angel complied with the request, mostly because of his trust and fondness of you.

When he sat down, you turned towards him and began to unbutton his white shirt after he took off the soaked hoodie. Castiel watched your attentively as you did so. The way your hands played with his shirt and the focus that was seeped deep into your eyes as you did so. Once his shirt was open, you gazed back up and into his eyes. He watched a faint smile, a comforting one, stretched across your lips before slipping the shirt off his shoulders and exposing his entire upper body.

Your eyes shot to the bloody rage he used around his arm, mostly just to stop the bleeding. Worry of an infection took place in your mind, but luckily that didn't seem to be the case.

"Look at you," you whispered. The words catching Castiel's attention quicker than ever before. "You're lucky this isn't infected."

"I suppose so." He replied under his breath as he continued to watch you, never once looking away.

You hovered your finger over the wound that was slanted across his bicep. The fact that it hadn't healed wedging itself into your mind making you say, "You really are human."

"Yes." Castiel said. "The whole experience has been very tiring."

You laughed at that, the chuckle that came from your chest making the former angel experience something that he hasn't before. Sure, he got chills from the cold or rain, but never from a simple laugh.

Next, you began to examine the wound. Overall, it seemed to be healing fine but you really wanted to clean up the dried blood that pooled around the actual cut. So, you grabbed a cotton pad and dabbed some rubbing alcohol on the surface.

"This may sting a bit," you warned Cas before gently patting it against the wound. You watched his face scrunch up a bit as he got used to the stinging sensation. Though, in the end it seemed like he took the pain rather well.

You smiled as you placed the pad on the table next you, your hands picking up some proper bandages before commenting, "You took that better than Dean. You getting used to being human?"

"Ah, it's all new to me. Hunger. Cold." He explained, his eyes meeting yours as he said, "This feeling of being alone."

You stared at Cas for a moment. Yes, he was still the same, and yet so much about him was different. He was learning how to understand human emotions, and after all this time it just took being human to truly get it. To you, it explained how truly complex human emotions were. Something about this Cas pained you in more than words could explain, and for some reason the desire to comfort him was absolutely overwhelming.

"You aren’t alone anymore." You said. Your mind focusing on one action, and one alone. You knew it would disappear until you acted on it, so, you carefully leaned in and gave the man a gentle kiss upon his cheek. The stubble he grew while away tickling your skin. When you backed up, you gave a kind smile and said, "I won't let you be alone, I promise."

Castiel remained silent, yet his eyes remained connected with yours until something clicked in his mind and they darted right down to your soft, vulnerable lips. He would be lying if he said he never studied them before, but right now the urge he wanted to act on for so long was stronger than ever. When he noticed you doing the same, something snapped. Castiel didn't waste any time to lean in and connect his lips with yours. At first, something told him not to rush or else you'd get scared away. So, he waited for you to make the next move and when he felt your lips sensually move against his, his next move was to do the same. At first, he really had no idea how to go about kissing and all he wanted to do was to impress you in the best way he could. So, he mimicked you, but if you had your eyes open and noticed his furrowed brows, you would instinctively tell he had absolutely no idea what was going on. All he knew was that with you, it felt better than he could have ever imagined.

Exploring your body was perhaps one of the best things he had gotten to experience as a human. Everything was so overwhelming in a way that he never would have dreamed. Though, perhaps the best thing about the entire thing was that it was with you. The way your squirmed underneath him, the sounds you made when he pleasured you, not to mention the way you made him feel was something he wouldn't trade up for the world to the point where he felt almost saddened when his body tired out on you.

Both of you laid on your backs, the sheets covering up to your abdomens, with this dazed looks in your eyes. Still, with that look something in your human mind wanted him to say something. Say anything.

You turned your head to him, his gaze still aimed up. "Well? Say something."

Castiel took in a deep breath, his eyes darting around as you noticed him try to think of something until he said, "There aren't words."

You stared at him before turning on your side, your body still facing him. "So, it was okay?"

This was the time Castiel turned to make eye contact with you. His injured arm raised, the palm of his hand against the back of his head. He stared at you for a moment before saying with a small smile, "Very much so."

You smiled a bit to yourself until you noticed his face go from happy to concerned, which prompted you to get a bit more serious for him. After all, you didn't want to make him feel embarrassed.

"Um.." he mumbled out. His eyes darting down and up again in a nervous fashion as he asked, "What I did, that was, uh.. correct?"

You couldn't help a large smile to snake itself across your lips as you nodded with a soft, "Very much so."

"Good," he said with a look that mirrored yours. And the smile he shined was almost designed to make you even more infatuated with him. And that laugh after--God that laugh--hearing it was everything to you.

You stared at him for a moment before calling his name. His head turning to you as your prompted yourself up and into his chest. He couldn't exactly make eye contact with you, but just having you right next to him, especially in this state, was more than he could ask for.

"Before, my promise? I'd like to add on to it." You suddenly said. The words confusing Castiel greatly, after all, the promise you made to him before was like music to his ears. What more could you say that could make him even more of a fool for a human like you?

"You don't have to." Cas said.

"But I want to." You cut him off and took a deep breath. You turned your head a bit, snuggling into him more and giving him a soft, loving kiss on his chest before saying, "I promise to protect you. To the end of the line because you mean more than family to me."

Castiel didn't waste anytime to take his arm around you, holding you closer if that was even possible. The words you spoke probably meant more to him than anything he's heard in his life. After all, with you, it was like you changed him from the inside out in ways that he never even imagined when he first met you.

"I promise as well, [Name]."

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @merle-p donated $45, and requested Sam/Mick. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

This hotel really is a tip. Mick takes the keycard up with him—American quirk—and shakes his head at the identical thin carpets, the shoddy elevator, the spotting on the mirror, the bed with its awful polyester duvet. No, not a duvet—a thin bedspread, with a vile leaf-and-flowers pattern that wouldn't do for wallpaper of even the saddest pensioner. He leaves his bag on the cheap luggage rack and tosses his keycard onto the desk and looks at the bed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

He orders dinner from what passes for room service. He doesn't know what the Winchesters are doing—probably dipping away to some diner, from the profile work Lady Bevell had provided—but they don't call for him, either way. A chicken marsala of decent quality, sticky rice, overcooked broccoli. He eats it efficiently with his mobile playing a midnight stream of the BBC World Service, sitting at the table with the lamps lit. He looks out the window, its view of overcrowded trees and the parking lot and the road, and he does see the Chevrolet pull back in, bulky and too-big and too-loud and too-American, and he smiles at it even if he shouldn't, and passes the napkin over his mouth, and sits back in his chair, to think.

Work of a moment to set up the typewriter. A quick twist of the ink-ribbon and a murmur of Farsi and he sends his report back home. Casefiles distributed to local hunter, he types, and pauses. Tests of loyalty continue, he types, more slowly, and doesn't have much to add. His reports are terse as a matter of course but he isn't often given to dissembling. Not, at least, before the massacre at the headquarters. He unclenches his jaw and tears the sheet of paper out of the typewriter. That's more than enough.

Quiet, since the alpha vampire was destroyed. Ketch has been doing his own work, directed by both Mick and by the old men on orders Mick isn't given to know, and he's been allowed replacement assistance at headquarters but it isn't as it was. The Kendricks-trained goons they sent are more of Ketch's ilk than his and he doesn't know them. Mary Winchester has been distant. It's only Sam Winchester, really, that Mick knows at all in this country, and Sam is…

Mick sits watching the trees in the moonlight, for a few minutes longer, and then goes to the minibar in the suite's kitchenette. Not much to inspire, there. He calls down to room service, again, and makes an order, and then goes to the ensuite and washes his face, and swishes the marsala-flavor out with mouthwash, and then looks at himself, his suit somewhat rumpled and no tie and his eyes—he looks away from his eyes, and thinks, well. If it goes wrong, it will hardly be the first time something has gone wrong.

The suites are all on the same floor. Dean's in 703, Mick's in 706, and Sam's down at the far end of the hall, 712, the hall ending with a great picture window looking out onto the moonlit woods, and Mick pauses in front of that last door, watching out for a moment. Not yet nine o'clock. Plenty of time to turn around and try for a different night.

The elevator dings, halfway down the hall. Mick's mouth hitches, without him meaning it to, and he knocks at Sam's door. A moment, while Mick stands placid in full view of the peephole, and then a muffled rattle while the chain is disengaged, and then the deadbolt and then the door opening by a foot, Sam standing in the gap and giving Mick a look like he's not to be trusted. "Yeah?" he says, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming, either.

Mick smiles, as friendly as Sam isn't. "I wondered if we might have a talk, you and I," he says.

"It's late," Sam says, which it clearly isn't. His brow tightens. "Something about the job?"

"Something like that," Mick says, and at that moment the girl arrives with the room service cart, looking confused. "Ah," he says, and gestures. "Please come in, miss, Mr. Winchester was just waiting for his order," and Sam blinks at the girl and then gives Mick a look that would melt steel, but luckily Mick is not steel. He opens the door wider and Mick sees he's in bare feet, his jacket removed, the most informal he's been in Mick's presence since he was being tortured—and Mick follows the room service cart into the suite and Sam's too polite or too circumspect or too self-controlled to stop him.

The room's dim, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, and the girl's uncertain. "Where would you like it, sir?" she says, and Mick gestures at the table under the window, and Sam's silent while she unloads the bucket, the two glasses set down with gentle clicks.

Sam smiles at her as she leaves—very fake, it drops off the second her back's turned—and waits until the door closes behind her to say, "What the hell, Mick. Champagne?"

Mick shrugs, pulling the bottle out of the silver bucket. "Not a good one, if that helps," he says. Appropriately cold, at least. He starts working the wire cage, ignoring the look he's getting. "I thought it might be appropriate, that's all. Inauguration of a new stage in our partnership."

"Our partnership," Sam echoes, with unflattering skepticism. The cork pops smoothly and Mick smiles at Sam, eyebrows high, and gets at least a sigh, an eyeroll, a shake of head. Slight exasperation—how he looks, sometimes, at his brother. Mick pours while Sam watches, saying, "If it's about our partnership, then I should invite Dean over."

Mick watches the bubbles rise in the second flute and licks his lips. That was a particular sort of tone, from Sam. "I thought we might discuss some things privately, you and I," he says, and turns to hold out one of the glasses. "Dean, I think, isn't yet my biggest fan. Though I'd like that to change."

"Champagne probably wouldn't do it," Sam says. He's giving Mick another look. Assessing. Mick tips his head and can't tell if he's been found wanting. A beat, before Sam walks over and takes the glass. "Maybe if you brought whiskey."

Damn Ketch. Mick shakes his head and extends his own glass as a toast—but Sam's already moving away, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking out the window. His hair's tucked behind his ear, lamplight on his cheek and moonlight on his brow. Like a sculpture. Mick sits opposite him and sips the champagne and it's—sugary, light. "This really isn't ideal," he says.

Sam glances at him, and then down at his glass. He takes a sip and makes a face. "Sweet."

Mick licks his lips and gambles. "Truth be told, I like the cheap stuff better," he says, and—yes, Sam looks up at him and it's with slight surprise. An opening. Mick shrugs. "I wasn't always top Kendricks material. Had to learn to drink like my betters."

Sam huffs air through his nose. "Sounds familiar," he says. Mick raises his eyebrows and Sam half-smiles, his head tipping. "At Stanford I think I was the only one who actually liked Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Not a reference Mick gets, but he gets the sentiment. "To not being posh," he says, lifting his glass again, and Sam snorts but nods, and takes a drink, and Mick watches his throat move as he swallows, the way his hand's delicate on the flute. The size of him.

"I wanted to thank you, too," Mick says. He sets his glass down. "I didn't really get the chance, before." A frown, Sam not understanding. Is it genuine? Mick clears his throat. "For—killing the alpha vampire. I would've died if you weren't there."

Surprise—god, it was genuine. Mick's out of practice, being around people who aren't hiding ten different agendas up their tweed sleeves. "You're probably right," Sam says, after a second. His mouth lifts at one corner. A dimple. "No offense. But I didn't do it for you."

"Oh, thanks," Mick says, leaning back, and Sam actually laughs a little, says: "I meant, that's the point, of being a hunter. You kill the bad thing and save whoever you can. That's what makes the whole thing worth it."

He shrugs, sips at his champagne again. Makes another face but seems to be getting used to it. Mick taps his thumb on the table, watching him. "I'm getting that," Mick says. "I think. It was always… very academic, before. Clean research, without the messiness of the real world."

Sam's eyelashes sweep low. "Sounds easier," he says, with a queer twist to his voice that makes Mick wonder.

He's not going to uncover everything there is to know about Winchester the Younger tonight, however. He makes a note, puts it to the side, and instead tops up their glasses, reaching over the table to fill Sam's without Sam much helping. "Mick," Sam says, sighing protest, though Mick notices he doesn't actually pull away.

"Once the bottle's opened you have to finish it," Mick says, easy, "it'll go flat, otherwise," and he lifts his glass in a little toast and drains it in a few frothy swallows—Sam sighs, and takes a gulp too—and then Mick gets up, comes around the table, and sits on the edge, a little too much in Sam's space to be mistaken for casual.

Sam blinks at him. His mouth's still damp a little from the champagne. "What's up?" he says. Almost warning.

"I said I wanted to thank you," Mick says. He reaches down—Sam's legs long enough that his knee's close—so Mick puts two fingers there, very lightly, feeling the twitch of reaction. Still, Sam doesn't completely pull away. "I can provide other benefits than not-very-good champagne."

Sam's chin tips up and he looks at Mick very steadily. "You're serious," he says, after a few seconds. Mick lifts a shoulder. Sam's eyes tighten, minutely, at the corners. "What's with the British Letters and using sex to infiltrate the enemy? That something they teach at Kendricks, too?"

Mick swallows. It is, but Sam's not to know that, unless—he'd wondered, if Lady Bevell had, but he hadn't been part of her debriefing. "Not the enemy," he says, forestalling the thought. "And not using. And not infiltration, either, and not even, really, the British Letters, here." He takes a breath and gives Sam a little smile, feeling unaccountably like he's at the edge of a cliff without belays to hold him. "Just Mick. Michael, if you like. Expressing my gratitude and wondering how I can show it."

"Most people just do beer and pizza," Sam says, still with those tight searching eyes.

Mick doesn't move his fingers, where they're still just brushing the warm denim. "Never much liked pizza," he says, which he knows is stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but Sam hasn't moved—isn't moving, still as a watching tiger in square uncomfortable chair. He chances it, spreading his hand flat on the lean muscle of Sam's thigh. It flexes underneath his palm and he breathes out, slowly. "You're ridiculously attractive. You know that, I trust."

"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. He grips Mick's wrist, tight but not bruising, and Mick swallows again, meeting Sam's eyes and trying to look honest. He's out of practice with that, too. Sam looks at him, and at his mouth, and Mick thinks for a second—yes—but then Sam detaches Mick's hand from his leg, firmly, and pushes it back against Mick's chest. His fingers are briefly hot through Mick's shirt. "But I don't accept payment," Sam says, with a quick hard press for emphasis before he lets Mick go. "Especially not—" he starts, and shakes his head instead of finishing. He pushes his chair back and stands, turning to the window. He pushes a hand through his hair and it falls messily right back into place. He blocks out the moonlight. He's so oversized—in everything—smarts and skill and beauty. Mick wants to touch him again immediately and doesn't.

"My mistake," Mick says. He bites the inside of his lip very hard, until it hurts more than he can stand, and lets it go, and waits for the throb the grow and swell and pass, and in all that time Sam doesn't speak. He stands up, fixing his cuff, at pitches his voice to lightness. "At least you enjoyed my champagne."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, not precisely light but not cruel, either, and Mick turns to go—and is caught, by the wrist again, while Sam says: "Wait."

He's being looked at, again, and before he can decide what expression Sam's wearing he's pulled forward and he's being kissed. His hand flexes in Sam's grip and with the other he touches Sam's stomach, surprised. Sam's hand on his jaw, controlling, and his mouth—firm, not giving anything up, but good, too—not a hint of uncertainty, not dithering about. Mick breathes in through his nose and enjoys it. A man's kiss, he thinks, hard and uncompromising. He tips his head back, letting Sam guide him, and parts his lips, and there's Sam's tongue—for a second, a hot brief flash that jolts his gut—and then Sam pulls back, a centimeter, breathing against him. Mick strokes a thumb over the waist of his jeans where his belt is weighing them down, and Sam ducks his head, breathes against Mick's jaw for a second, and then steps back entirely, letting Mick go.

There's a warm throb in Mick's wrist. Sam gripped him very tightly, for a moment there. "That was unexpected," he says, after a moment. His lower lip is damp and he very much wants to lick it, but resists the impulse.

Sam has no such compunction, apparently. He licks his mouth and stretches his jaw, too, resettling. Mick's put in mind again of a tiger, looking at willing prey, and his cock flexes in his trousers. "Just wondering," Sam says, casual.

Mick's startled into a grin. "You absolute prick," he says, and Sam smiles back at him. A little smug. "And how was it?"

A lifted shoulder, like nothing. "Maybe we can stay here again when we're done with this job," Sam says. Then, a little more serious: "We can talk. If it's just Mick, and not anything else."

Mick runs his tongue over the sore spot inside his lip. "I'm looking forward to it," he says, and Sam nods. He steps back and Sam lets him go, and Mick hooks the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, dripping ice-water onto the carpet. "But I'm taking this." Sam snorts. "And I hope you don't mind if I have a furious wank over this in about ten minutes."

An eyeroll. "TMI," he says, the bastard, and Mick sighs at him and exits with what dignity he has, and when the door's closed behind him he stands in the overly bright hall with the bottle still dripping cold against his trousers and breathes out. He licks his lips and gets a taste of champagne.

After the case is done, he thinks, and can't imagine for a moment what might go in that space. It's a strange uncertainty. For the first time in his life, something unplanned and uncalculated-for, something the Letters haven't decided for him. Something just for him. He flexes his hand, still feeling the echo of Sam on his wrist. After the case. He really is looking forward to it.

[dotthings]

Well that was traumatic.

Like last week, a very standard-feeling MOTW, almost pointedly standard, until...it wasn’t. Only this time it wasn’t a twist in the hunt, it was mytharc crashing into a hunt that was called out, in text, as “too easy.” How very very interesting. 

So it seems the deep freeze on the part of pointedly not mentioning Cas is over. Sam’s been texting him. A lot. So many texts. Yeesh Cas, take pity on the boy and answer him. From the texts I glimpsed on screen it looks like Dean didn’t tell Sam anything, just some vague excuse about Cas needing to go off to do something or other on his own for whatever reason mumble mumble, oooh pie. So Sam doesn’t know what went down there. 

Dean is still using food to not deal with his feelings. It’s the same demeanor we saw in 15.04--food humor, stuffing his face, and we see this facade throughout the episode. Dean has cultivated and built this I’m fine facade because he has to, just to keep going. He is genuinely relieved thinking Chuck is gone, but there’s still the doubt cast over his whole life and what was real about it and what wasn’t. Last week’s pep talk to Sam--fake it ‘til you make it. Dean trying to talk himself into that and cheer Sam up, and it is something to shoot for. As if Dean’s going to talk himself into it. If he says it enough, he’ll believe it. Jensen’s performance is just the right amount of believably forced. It’s not ostentatious, the pain is held just beneath the surface and I get the feeling of Dean walling things off, like he’s stuff all those doubts into a box and slammed the lid and it’s in there screaming and throwing things at the door, like AU Michael, but Dean’s going to keep motoring because what else can he do.

Why, why, WHY why did I have to see Dean shooting Samifer with the Colt, I can never unsee this. Oh now I have to see Dean burning up, consumed by flames at Samifer’s command, oh no WHY DO I HAVE TO SEE THIS. How many times will S15 make me witness Sam or Dean killing the other. 

And as this ep makes abundantly clear, yet again, to show us the undesirable ending. Just to make it even more clear we’ve got codependent werewolf brothers one killing the other and then killing himself, we’ve got existential despair, we’ve got an incredibly pointedly standard drab MOTW where the ep noticeably improves once it turns out it’s not what it seems. This is all so pointed I’m going to get a paper cut. For those who missed it in the back: a narrative without hope and a miserable hopeless ending and codependency and no growth is the undesirable big bad here, the ending the actual big bad villain wants, and the goal of the heroes is to subvert and stop that. To make a better outcome. 

Gosh it’s like dark narratives that offer a sense of hope and catharsis and a better outcome is a valid thing or something, not something that means you need therapy for wanting in your fiction, isn’t that just wild.

Also the degree that SPN is deconstructing its own MOTW routine, in text, is fascinating. It’s not a takedown on early MOTW, but it seems like a very meta-textual self-awareness of the role of MOTW in modern SPN, what SPN is now. And the same thing over and over just isn’t going to cut it.

I really enjoyed this scene with Dean’s understanding and compassion for this terrified girl. Demonstrating the comfort Sam and Dean can offer people, they go after the monsters. He’s not even trying to hide what they do as sometimes the Winchesters have, yes ma’am, rabid bobcat that escaped from the zoo none of that here. And Dean’s face watching the girl crying. 

“Do you like your job?”

And Dean says “there’s a lot of bad but it feels good to help people. I’m where I’m supposed to be” -- which is a sad little callback to Dean’s self-assurance about his life and who he is in the middle of S14. The saddest part is he really did get there, or at least a start, and now he’s doubting his whole life because of Chuck’s plot manipulations and I’m sad, but I don’t think it’s all torn down. It’s still there, it’s being battered and torn but Dean got there and Chuck isn’t going to destroy it forever.

Dean’s FACE when Ashley says how everything is so random and awful and wouldn’t it be easier if it was all planned out “and decided for you.”

There’s several lines in here where characters point out the case is “too easy”--Sam says it and then Lilith and maybe a few other instances I didn’t jot down. It definitely felt that way before the twist, as I said, like 15.04...it felt a little too rote. But then it wasn’t.

The werewolf brother shoots his brother, a very obvious mirror to Sam and Dean killing each other in Sam’s visions. “He turned into a monster. And I’m a monster too” and then the poor guy kills himself yikes. 

When Ashley fell on the antlers at first I thought Chuck was going to mess with them by having the victim they saved die due to a random senseless accidental death and that would be nasty af but Chuck had even bigger plans because WTF that’s LILITH. Oh ok.

Very very standard MOTW takes dark twist, then swerves even more darkly deep into mytharc territory.

OH NO ANOTHER VISION MOC DEAN GOING AFTER SAM

“This isn’t you”

In Chuck’s bleak endings, yellow crayons never work. MoC demon Dean kills Sam. 

NOPE.

Also no Cas in the AU/ending again. I was kind of assuming demon blood Sam killed him in the vision in 15.04 or maybe it was a world without a Cas. But if these are possible endings to this Sam and Dean, then there was a Cas at one point, and so my theory that demon blood Sam killed him seems likely.

In the MoC Dean one, oh there was absolutely a Cas. Because MoC Dean killed him. Because “You’re living my life backwards.” Moc Dean killed Cas, his Collette, and then he killed Sam, his brother. It’s Cain’s prophecy about Dean’s potential dark path fulfilled.

“That was God too, right?” This line was so heartwrenching, Dean really is questioning absolutely everything they ever did.

Then Lilith mocks that Dean “bonding with the victim” scene. EXCUSE ME LILITH HOW DARE.  

This is extra cruel, because it’s some of the best parts of Dean being played against him. Dean was being his best heroic compassionate self there, and Lilith was playing him the whole time. My heart is cracking.

A Cas mention, even Dean participates. This is a big enough crisis that he can’t just stay high top the thing not!mentioning Cas, much as Dean tried to do that. He’s not ready to deal with any of his Cas feelings.

Interesting though, Dean’s weapon of choice was an angel blade, even after that breakup. 

“God was supposed to be gone.” YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART. I KNEW THIS WAS COMING, AND IT STILL HURTS. “This was supposed to be over. We were done. We were free.” Oh Dean my poor bb.

So now they have flipped again. Last week Dean was holding it together while Sam found it hard to keep on, now Dean’s hope is gone and he loses his grip on his attempt to act okay as if acting okay can make him be okay. Which he could do for only so long, but could do it more and longer without the emotional horror of discovering Chuck isn’t gone and he’s still messing with them. Dean was trying to keep a toe-hold on purpose and meaning but that was a facade and this ep just rips that thin poncho of fake it 'til you make it violently away.

While Sam, because of the wound from the equalizer, apparently can see right into Chuck’s brain. Maybe Chuck doesn’t know, or is Chuck purposefully taking the opportunity to use that wound to inflict this emotional horror on Sam.

(btw how many times am I going to use the phrase emotional horror in my S15 metas. So many).

“Chuck only likes one kind of ending.” So these aren’t AU’s...these are Chuck’s endings for the story where Sam and Dean kill each other. Note again the lack of Cas in these scenarios. And why could that be. Because to get there, Chuck has to get rid of Cas. Cas has to stay out of the story. Let me point you back to my theory on the uniqueness of Team Free Will in this world and Cas’s importance in Sam and Dean’s lives. This still fits even if these aren’t AU’s but potential endings. Cas is the crack in the chassis. The spanner in the works. Really inconvenient for Chuck and his quest for the miserable terrible no good hopeless very bad ending for Sam and Dean.

[the-trashy-phoenix]

Supernatural season 6 review (part 1)

Link to part 2:

At the beginning of the sixth season we have the chance to see and appreciate a new side of Dean: as he had promised Sam, he came back with Lisa (who seems to have accepted him straight away, because, even after all those years, she realises he’s the only man she’s ever loved) and lives in a proper family, behaving as Ben’s, Lisa’s son, father. Of course he still thinks about Sam, but he seems to be happy for the first time in his life, as he now has everything he’s always dreamed of since when he was a child. He’s a good dad to Ben, he’s so careful to avoid becoming like John and he’s also really faithful to Lisa. His life as a hunter clearly made him understand the advantages of having a quiet life and a “normal” family, so that he appreciates them a lot more than anyone could do. At first I thought Dean was not cut out for being a dad, and that Sam would surely make a better one, but these episodes proved me wrong, especially considering what Sam has now become. We already know (from the last episode of season five) that Sam is alive, so that’s not a big surprise, but we still have questions on what happened, the same ones Dean has when he meets him. As a matter of fact, he finds out he’s been alive for a very long time, hunting with his new family, the Campbells, led by their mother’s dad, Samuel, who’s been brought back to life with Sam, even though they both don’t know who did it. Dean is at first angry with Sam (but we’re used to it at this point) because he didn’t tell him he was alive, but Sam’s intentions were good, as he wanted Dean to maintain his happy family life. This dream of letting Dean out of hunting appears to be utopic, because being a hunter is far from being just Dean’s job, it’s part of his soul and now that he knows his brother is alive he can’t ignore anymore the continuous impulse of starting hunting again he constantly feels. Dean is deeply in doubt about what he has and wants to do, because he can’t bear either to lose Sam or Lisa and Ben: a sort of compromise is proposed by Lisa, and Dean accepts. He’ll start to hunt again with Sam and he’ll come and visit his family whenever he can. I really loved Lisa’s comprehensive attitude towards Dean, which testifies she loves and knows him so much she understands he could never give up on his life as a hunter and accepts to adapt to whatever makes Dean happy. That’s rare considering the people Dean can count on are few. However, what Lisa and Dean haven’t fully considered at first is that Ben and her will automatically become one of Dean’s weak points and that could put them in danger.

About Castiel, he’s a little absent in the Winchester’s hunts (but he always somehow finds time to help them when they need it, and that shows how much he loves them and cares about them) because he’s fighting in Paradise against Raphael who wants to take power. By the way neither Castiel knows how Sam was saved. One of the main plots of the season is the loss of some weapons from Paradise, which are now on earth and are improperly used by people. As always is Sam and Dean’s job to avoid a catastrophe caused by angels and recollect those weapons, while fighting ordinary demons and other monsters. It comes out that an angel, Balthazar, owns some of those weapons: he’s quite of an ambiguous character, as angels sometimes are in this show, and seems to be just indifferent to what happens both in Paradise and on earth. He’s surely not a completely good angel, as Castiel, but sometimes helps the boys in hunts and in their personal issues. I think he could be compared to another weird (but very interesting) character we’ve met in the last season and we get to know better in this one: Crowley. As Balthazar is an angel, Crowley is a demon, and we’ve learnt that in Supernatural there’s not a big difference between the two. I think what makes them similar is the fact that they keep fighting the Winchesters and pretend to dislike them, but they never actually harm them and seem even to quite like the brothers.

Through an involving episode based on Bobby’s point of view, the fourth, we understand more deeply what he does on a typical day apart from helping Sam and Dean. His routine is very stressful, so that we can justify him for being a bit rude and actually feel more than ever like the Winchesters take him for granted and never thank him enough, which they finally do after a small fight at the end of the episode. This change in perspective was quite unexpected, in a show were the main and only focus are Sam and Dean, but it was really appreciated as it gives the chance to see the story and past plots under a new light. Speaking of Crowley and Bobby, the old man is smart enough (even if he’s so busy giving Rufus and the brothers his precious help) to find out the demon’s real name and a way to make him change the terms of the contract: he’ll live his life without being persecuted in ten years and will as well keep his legs.

At this point I have to mention episode five, which constitutes a turning point for a lot of reasons (by the way, I also loved the reference to Twilight, first of all because I really appreciate how Supernatural refers and quotes other real shows or movies, but also because, I have to admit, some years ago I was a huge fan of the saga). As I was saying, this vampire episode is interesting because Dean himself is transformed. This fact marks a deep change in his relationship with Lisa and Ben: Dean, convinced he’s going to die soon, goes and visits his family but can’t control his vampire instinct and accidentally harms Ben, and as a result Lisa banishes him from their lives. At that moment Dean has the last proof he can’t maintain his bond with them, which will lead him and Lisa to fall apart without even clarifying the situation after Dean turns human. As I said loads of time regarding his relationship with his brother, one of the Dean’s features I hate the most is the fact he’s never able to talk with his loved ones straightforwardly about serious stuff, and that’s why problems always grow bigger. At the end of the season, the story of Lisa and Dean brutally comes to an end, since Ben and her are captured by Crowley’s demons and Lisa gets severely injured: that’s the point where Dean understands definitively they can’t have this kind of relationship for their own good and asks Castiel to erase their memories about him. This is one of the saddest parts of the entire season, because we know well what Lisa and Ben meant to Dean and we also know that they were his last hope for happiness, which is irremediably gone.

Talking about Sam, here it is the second shocking scene of episode five: Sam sees Dean’s transformation happening under his eyes without doing anything. When Dean recalls it, he gets mad, of course without asking Sam for some explanation, as the two are not able to solve their conflicts in a civil way simply by talking, and adds this episode to the list of Sam’s weird behaviours, which makes him think there’s something wrong with him. As Dean is the person who knows Sam better, he’s sure his brother is not okay, even though everyone, including Sam himself, thinks he’s exaggerating. He asks help from the only one person he can really trust (apart from Bobby), Castiel, who reveals to him the shocking truth: Sam’s soul is gone, and was probably left in hell in the cage with Lucifer. That explains Sam’s recent behaviour, far from the kindness and humanity we’ve learnt to love about him. I was really worried about him in finding out why he had behaved so badly and he had at times preferred Samuel (with whom he hunted a lot in the past year and did some regrettable things, as we learn from some flashbacks), also because both Cas and Crowley are convinced Sam’s soul is lost forever and irretrievably damaged by the devil, but part of me was relieved the Sam we had seen so far in the season was not the real Sam. However, I think there was a kind of contradiction in the way the authors depicted soulless Sam, as he sometimes seems to actually have feelings left, for example when he doesn’t show up with Dean to let him go on with his happy family life, in the first episode, but that could just be an isolated moment of awakening, moved by his huge love for his brother.

From that moment on, a new phase in the storyline is opened, as Sam has to depend completely on Dean who tries to teach him a sort of morality and at the same time looks for a way to restore Sam’s soul. Dean even has to convince his brother he has to want his soul back, because he cannot trust him without it, while Sam seems to feel better and stronger without. As if all that soul thing wasn’t enough, they have to face the Campbells: Samuel proves himself untrustworthy, and Dean decides to follow him to his secret hideout. He finds out Samuel is hiding some creatures he said he had killed and that he’s looking for a place Dean had no idea existed, Purgatory, and he’s doing it working for Crowley. Dean never really trusted his granddad and the Campbells, but could never imagine not only that they were working for a demon, and a very powerful one (even if Samuel did it because Crowley promised to resuscitate Mary). Also, Samuel said nothing about the fact that he and Sam were brought back by Crowley to help him find Purgatory and extend his power. Moreover Crowley, ambiguous as always, says he can restore Sam’s soul and cunningly obliges the Winchesters to hunt for him. Sam, who is way more rational because of the lack of soul, knows it’s their only choice, while Dean accepts more recklessly. As a matter of fact, this situation doesn’t last as they decide to break their subjugation and find another way to save Sam, with the help of another quite ambiguous character, which appears and disappears both to kill and help the brothers, Meg. This time she helps them fight Crowley and at the end they (a strange group formed by the Winchesters, Cas and Meg) manage to kill him. Therefore, we find ourselves at the middle of the season with Dean basically at the beginning of his research for Sam’s soul. Luckily, he finds really soon a way; unfortunately, it implies a deal with a quite dangerous character, Death: he will restore Sam’s soul if Dean will live a day in his shoes. What I appreciated of the personification of Death is that he isn’t properly evil in the show, just as the evil connotation mankind gives to death is merely arbitrary: Death is nothing more than a natural phenomenon which must happen necessarily in each human life, and Dean is given the chance to understand that deeply and reconsider his thoughts about it.

After a long and painful period of time passed in the panic room, Sam wakes up for the first time in a year with his soul, protected by a wall which is aimed to hide all that’s happened from when he fell in the hole with Lucifer and Raphael, because hell memories could kill him (and he’s already been through a lot). It was a joy to see our good little Sammy back, we (and Dean) had missed his gentle and cute attitude so much! He’s been through so much with demons and psychic things Dean keeps thinking any problem could be too much for him and he will explode, but somehow Sam is always able to bear them, while Dean always tries, in vain most of the time, to protect him. This time, as Sam doesn’t remember a thing from his soulless year, Dean hides him the truth (at this point of the show we know him so well he is completely predictable and the pattern of the brothers not telling each other important facts is the exact repetition of some other episodes), but it ends better than other times because Cas reveals Sam everything without knowing he didn’t know and Sam seems to understands Dean’s motives (after all, they’re brothers).

Before moving to the finale, I can’t but mention the metanarrative episode of this season, the 15th, in my opinion the most mind blowing of this type: Dean and Sam find themselves trapped on the Supernatural set where they’re actors and of course known by their real names. This episode gifts us with the most funny scenes of Castiel, whose real name is Misha, posting tweet all the time about the most stupid things and of Ruby/Genevieve, married with Jared in real life and also in this episode: that’s where reality seems to be weirder and funnier than the show itself.

After Rufus’ death, another really good character left on the way, and the defeat of the “Mother of all things”, the main villain of the season who’s killed quite easily through phoenix ashes collected back in 1861 by Sam and Dean themselves –nothing strange-, we find out the last shocking fact of the season: the alliance between Castiel and Crowley (who’s still alive) to find Purgatory. I was quite surprised because I couldn’t believe the naïve angel would cooperate with a demon and, even worse, without ever telling the Winchesters. I don’t think they would be happy about their deal, but at least they could’ve honestly known what their friend was up to: this way he cheated them so badly they couldn’t even believe it until the very last moment. That’s no excuse that Cas allied with Crowley just to take on some soul from Purgatory, gain more power to finally defeat Raphael and win the war in Paradise, and also that he made the demon promise the Winchesters and Bobby would be safe, because to reach his purpose he spied and lied to his friends the whole time. He should’ve known the brothers have very few people they can trust and losing them is extremely painful. Castiel himself has no real friends apart from Sam and Dean, but he seems to think they’re expendable for a higher purpose and doesn’t seem to realise how guilty he will feel after betraying them and how it will hurt to lose them.

We are now at the last episode, and we’re given a new reason to be mad at Castiel: he breaks Sam’s mental wall, letting him recall all his memories from hell. Not satisfied with all that mess he’s already made, he manages to open the Purgatory and take all the power on him, refusing to give Crowley his part of the deal. I really can’t figure out what’s wrong with end-of-sixth-season Castiel, I guess the perspective of having a huge power and becoming a sort of god went to his head, but still I think his behaviour is so incoherent. I couldn’t believe it when he told his old friends to worship him as their god if they didn’t want to get killed… Like, for real Cas? I don’t know what’ll happen in season seven, I just know I want dear old Castiel back.

- Irene 💕

[otterbeesfanficblog]

One Hell Of An Emotion

Supernatural x sibling!Reader (neutral pronouns)

A/N: Gender dysphoria + Period cramps + holiday season + several mental illnesses = THE BEST DAY OF MY FUCKIN LIFE ™ This is really just me venting so, you don't need to read it if you don't want to, but all of what is written is what happens to me daily

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

This goes into detail of suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt. These may be triggering for some people. If these are at all not good or dangerous to you mental health, DO NOT READ. Read at your own risk. Know that you are loved, you are enough, and you are never alone. If at all you feel your life is threatened, please contact a helpline.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Nothing went right, not the hunt, not the research, you even let two people die because you were too slow. You knew it was all your fault, when wasn't it your fault? First you fucked up the research, ending up thinking it was the wrong monster, then two poor, innocent people had to pay for your mistakes.

You're a failure, a mistake. You knew you should have stayed back, they did too. Hell, they even told you, but did you listen? Of course not.

All because you have Winchester blood pumping through your veins, you thought you could do it. They have been training you so hard, teaching you the ropes.

And here's the kicker boy's and girl's, that monster fuck got away. Because of you. All because of you.

Stupid. Idiot. Failure. Mistake. Worthless. Lousy example of a human. A waste of time–

"Y/n," It was Sam, of course it was Sam, Dean was probably off the walls pissed at you. "Y/n, come on, can I please come in?"

He'd been begging outside the door like a lost puppy for the last 20 minutes now, and oddly enough, he kinda sounded worried.

Who were you kidding? He's not worried, he's pissed. But he's the 'emotional' brother, he's the one who has to tell you it wasn't your fault, that it was okay, that you could feel bad about this.

No. You had no right to fail. No right to lose him. You have no right to feel sorry for yourself. You have no right to get sad and lock yourself away in this cold, lonely motel room.

Sammy couldn't pretend like this was acceptable, Dean sure couldn't — God, he must be seething with anger right now— who are you to expect people to come comfort you for something that could have been avoided.

The tears streamed down your face as you got more and more angry with yourself, the pain, fear, anger, and sorrow of failure were hitting.

Hard.

You jaw was clenched, hot tears rolling down your face as you dug your nails into your palms. Sam's voice only added on to the self hate that was boiling up and drowning you, his gentle, forgiving and loving brotherly voice only made the pit in your stomach worse and the tears to fall faster.

They were mad, so very very mad. They had to be. You failed even after all they taught you.

You don't want them to be mad, you couldn't stand to look at their faces.

It wasn't the anger you didn't want to see. Your heart sank more and whimper left your mouth at the meer thought.

They were disappointed in you. Oh, that hurts. You disappointed them and they would never trust you again, not after this, after what you did.

Curling closer to yourself, you rocked back and forth, desperately trying to calm yourself down, trying to breath normal.

They hate, you know they do. They're gonna leave you somewhere and never look back, they are gonna finally get rid of you like they always wanted.

You know it.

They've never said these things, but you knew deep down they wanted to. You could see it in their eyes.

You were angry at yourself again.

What right do you have to cry? That couple is dead because of you! They had families that loved them! That looked for them everywhere! And you should up to them saying their dead?

Without even thinking, you stomped your way into the bathroom, almost punching the light switch on.

Your face was all red, eyes puffy and wet, nose was disgustingly runny, you had drooled and now you looked at yourself with nothing but disgust and anger.

No one should have to deal with a bug like you. You're better off dead like you were supposed to be, the boys shouldn't have even tried looking for you let alone bring you back.

You died in the womb after Sammy was born like you were supposed to, it was life's — no, God's way of saying "get this filthy stain off the planet before it can even breath a drop of air."

And yet here you are, living, breathing... Wasting air, barely living. Castiel took you from heaven in your teen years, so here you stood, a teen-ager who's only wish right now is to be dead like God intended.

You slammed the bathroom door shut, making sure to lock the door so that no one and nothing could stop you.

Staring at yourself angrily in the mirror, you glared at you sniveling coward like reflection.

Were you finally going to grow a pair and do it? Yo stop pushing down all your feelings and thoughts and just let yourself disappear like you and everyone else in the world wants?

Looking to the bathroom counter, you saw the small bag of medications calling your name. The small but sharp scissors shined a brilliant like at you, begging to be used.

You chest felt light at the thought of finally letting go of all this pain, but the tears didn't stop, instead they got worse.

There was a little voice in your head, screaming, crying, begging for you to listen to it. It's telling you not to, it's telling you to run to your brothers open arms, it's telling it's okay to cry and feel emotions, it's telling you that you are not a mistake and so, so so many people love and care about you.

People who would be devastated to see you go, heart broken, to know you were only feet away from them, fighting a war in you head... And asking no one for help.

But you didn't listen... You never listened.

That's what landed you hear in the first place, why you needed to do this.

You didn't think twice before grabbing the small bag, taking out all the meditations you thought would make you pass out the fastest.

Beggars can't be choosers when it comes to fast or slow, painful or peaceful deaths, but it doesn't mean you won't try.

You opened and downed them all, every single pill, emptying every bottle. Leaning down and drinking the faucet water, making it feel less stuck in your chest. But you did want to wait anymore.

The more time went by, the more you got scared, the more tears came, the more you regreted this, the more you wanted to call out your brothers names for help. Call out to anyone. Anyone who would listened.

Before you could regret more, you took the scissors off the counter and quickly dragged it across your arm.

One long, deep cut from your wrist to your elbow... And it didn't hurt.

You always imagined it would hurt.

Sliding to the floor you repeated this pattern as many times as you could on the one arm before going to the other.

It was oddly satisfying, painless and like cutting length wise down a piece of paper. Clean cuts.

The red was everywhere, but you couldn't feel it, the same way you couldn't hear your brothers break open your motel room door.

It was like everything was slowing down, you slowly set the red scissors down on the ground next to you, you slowly whimpered and cried out to your brothers in the weakest voice ever imagined.

The bathroom door slowly broke open, both Sam and Dean slowly ran over to you, dropping to your sides and taking your bloody arms, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

They were crying, or maybe it was you? Either way, tears were falling down their faces as they called out to you, screamed your name, begging you to keep your eyes open, not to leave them.

But they sounded so far away. So so far away, even with Sam rubbing his head on yours, crying out your name next to your ear he was so distance. Even with Dean, desperately trying to keep face and tell you to stay awake, he was far away too.

And for a moment, it was like time stop.

You saw a sudden flash of tan and a rush of emotions and feelings came over you. You could all at once feel the pain in your arms, then not. The fullness in your stomach, and thick feeling of pills lodged in your throat, then not.

Anger, joy, sadness, confusion. But the worst one of all, an emotion you were drowning in. An emotion that made you scream at the top of your lungs in pain, not physically, but the aching feeling in your chest made you want to rip your own heart out.

You felt guilty. Guilty for doing this to yourself, to your brothers you held you so desperately tight — afraid that if they let go, you would be gone— to Castiel, the Angel of the Lord who stood before you with the saddest blue ocean eyes you had ever seen.

You felt guilty on behalf of the people who loved you but who are gone. Your mother, who wanted you just as badly as Sam. You're father, who wanted so badly to know what his lost child would have grown to be. Bobby, who held you close to his heart just like your brother because you were his kid.

There are so many, so many people, here or not. Living or dead. That wanted you to live. That didn't think you were a mistake, that didn't want you to leave.

You shake as your screams quiet down to whimpers, holding onto Dean and Sam so tight it hurt but you didn't care. They wanted you here, they wanted you to live and breath and laugh and cry and sing and dance... They didn't want you to take your life. Not from yourself... And not from them.

"I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry..." It was a phase you repeated over and over through sobs, desperate to show then how sorry you were. But they didn't say anything, only holding you tighter.

What was left of the Winchester family, huddled on the tiled floor of a motel bathroom, holding one another for dear life, begging the world to leave them alone.

Let them be happy, let them not have to bee heros, to let then fight the wars in their head before Bing sent out to fight a war they had no need to be a part of.

And soon, the tears stopped, the tight grips loosened, and then you all sat, on the floor, quietly.

Castiel sat in the door frame, watching you all with protective eyes, standing guard, ready for any enemy to try to hurt the humans he as come to love and no as family.

Here now, in this moment, he would not let anything happen to you. He would fist watch heaven fall and hell rise before he let anything harm the people he calls family, and that was a silent vow he took.

Your face was still red, nose still stuffy and wet, eyes puffy and soon you began to feel the headache start to arrive.

You let out a sigh, wiping a hand over you eyes as you spoke in a raspy tone of voice.

"I would get some advil but um... " You glanced up at you small bag, all the medicine bottles were empty. Sam was the next to speak, sounding just as tried, if not more, than you.

"Too soon."

You let out breath of air that almost sounded like a laugh, and Dean, the loving big brother he was, threw his arm over your shoulder and sighed.

"I could really go for a Burger."

Before Sam could complain about now not being the time, you then burst out laughing, new tears starting to come to your eyes.

Not sad tears or angry tears, joyful tears, relief tears.

A weight was lifted of your chest that made you feel light and giddy, the laugh you let out made all three men smile, knowing this was a sign of you being okay.

There was no possible why they were letting you out of their sight tonight, not that you were complaining, but they now knew that Y/n that they knew and loved was okay, at least for now.

"You want a burger too? And some fries? Oh, like, 5 packs of fries and like 3 huge burgers. Huh? Who's with me? Is it you?"

Dean pokes you in the side, a smile reaching his eyes as you giggle and flinch away from his pokes, leaning into Sammy who was smiling ear to ear at your now happy state.

You all made a trip to nearest food joint, you and Castiel sat in the back and Dean and Sam in front as always.

You ate, you laughed, you love, and you are alive.

Guilt, sadness, shame, regret, anger, fear. These are all emotions, strong ones at that.

But damn.

Love is one hell of an emotion.

[captain-sodapop]

@spnhiatuscreations Week Three: Dad!Winchesters (aka Team Dad ™)

↳ “He’s our kid!”

Bonus:

Bonus Bonus:

The Cas Moments: (12x19, 13x06, 14x20) That first gif is the quintessential New Dad moment.  Cas is like...woah.  What the fuck.  There’s a kid in there.  This is the episode he vows to protect Kelly’s son, would give his life for him (and does) so he can come into this world with someone there for him.  And this is the moment Jack chooses Cas to be his father, where this whole journey of parenthood begins for him.

The next one is the conversation at the hotel table, Jack telling Cas he makes him feel safe and Cas telling Jack that Kelly would be so proud of him.  The look on Cas’s face is the look of big-time Fatherly Pride, AND HE JUST MET THE KID.  Like.  I’m emo.  He just loves this kid no questions asked.

The third is that moment in the graveyard.  Jack is struggling, has made cosmic mistakes, but Cas sees him and goes to him.  He never stopped advocating for Jack, never gave up on him, and when he sees that poor kid, he just hugs him.  He is relieved that he’s even there.  And again, I am a huge ball of tears.

The Sam Moments: (13x02, 13x23, 14x01) Sam may recognize that Jack is useful, but he also sees a kindred spirit in him early on, and makes sure to establish that early on in his relationship with Jack.  He tells him time and again that he cares about Jack, the person, not just what he can do, and is the first person out of the gate to express this love to him, a child that needs all the love he can get.  Sam knows what it’s like to be different, the “freak”, and he wants Jack to know he’s there for him.

Flash forward to the end of the season, and Sam is literally willing - just like Cas - to give his life for Jack, no questions asked.  And Jack is willing to do the same, and says those three words we here so little on this show.  And he says it to Sam, who has shown him that love always.  This scene is mortifying because of that love.

Then an episode later but quite a while later in time, Sam takes a big step here in letting a newly powerless Jack help them come save Cas.  This is huge.  There is so much trust here, and that smile Jack gives Sam is enough to tell you just how much he needs this (and then his literally run to his room to get his gear really confirms that message.)  Then Sam is just standing there, staring at the spot where Jack was, and to me, he - in a very quiet way - looks scared shitless.  Like every parent is.

The Dean Moments: (13x04, 14x06, 14x07) It takes Dean a long time to come around to Jack, but that moment where he first uses his name, grudgingly tells him he did a good job and helped them out, is HUGE.  Dean can really dig his heels in, but this moment is a window, a glimmer of acceptance, and Jack’s smile says it all - he knows that, too, and he wants so much for Dean to like him, and this is that first step.

Dean telling Jack that he’s pretty smart clearly just makes Jack’s day (even as he’s about to pass out from his consumption.)  He’s gaining Dean’s approval in increments, and by now he knows Dean thinks of him as family, but it’s still not the same with him as it is for him with Sam and Cas.  And let’s face it - when you’re a kid, having your parent tell you that you were right about something and they might have been wrong is sort of one of the greatest things ever.

Then there’s the infamous scene in the Impala.  Jack doesn’t just want Dean to like him, he thinks Dean is literally the coolest guy on the planet and wants to be just like him.  He even says, “It’s like I’m you!” as if it’s the ultimate compliment.  Out of context, this looks a proud Dad just teaching his kid how to drive, but we all know it’s so much more.  It’s giving Jack some normal as he faces death - with a damn smile, no less, like he’s Beth March or something.  The way Dean bites his lip and just looks over at Jack, watching him, is one of the saddest parts of the episode to me, actually.  He’s just taking him in as much as he can before he’s gone.

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x01 “Stranger in a Strange Land”

oh boy WHAT A GOOD START

03:13pm

I AM READY (slash not ready at all) FOR CAS BEING VERY SAD ABOUT DEAN FOR MULTIPLE EPISODES STRAIGHT (slash not straight at all)

i know almost nothing about this season besides dean being micheal for longer than he was a demon, and cas being :< the saddest puppy

-

03:15

yoooo i need to go find some headphones because i can hear all the BLRAHAHRGAH but voices are muffled

brb

-

03:18

headphones acquired

now let’s do this recap again

i paused on alexander’s boobs

i still don’t get why breasts are censored and non-breasts are not. like. they’re literally the same just less squishy???

-

WHOA THESE HEADPHONES HAVE BASS. i haven’t heard bass in months

-

okay no the issue with voices is the video file, not my speakers

welp guess i gotta just deal with it and squint at the screen because somehow that makes it easier to hear shit idk

-

03:22

still mid-key bummed about gabriel and dean yelling “gabe no!!!”

-

03:23

sam driving the impala alone is such a sad sight

-

i can head the adhan (muslim call the prayer) in the background

pffffff of course michael goes to arabia

i guess he teleported.... i guess that’s better than taking poor dean on a plane

oh wait the adhan was on dean’s phone??? jsdfghd unsure what to make of that

oH MY GOD MICHEL IS MUSLIM

THIS MAKES ME WEIRDLY HAPPY

IDK WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF THIS BUT I AM A FAN

oh wait never mind that’s nOT DEAn

IT LOOKED LIKE HIM OKAY, in profile, lying in bed

WHOOPS

-

oh god this guy better not die

i feel such immediate fondness

please let him be gentle and loving and important and not a terrorist or a red shirt

-

THIS IS MAKING ME SO EMOTIONAL I HAVEN’T HEARD ANYONE SAYING THESE PRAYERS IN SO LONG

one time i was in the school playground and i think someone asked if i could speak any other language and i said nope but i could say that prayer...... and they made me repeat so they could laugh at me again

-

also the dude skipped a whole surah (verse) and a hands-on-the-knees-bow before sijda (kneeling)

i guess it’s a timing thing but jsdgjgd INACCURACY

-

03:32

JENSEN PRAYING LIKE THAT PROBABLY SHOULDN’T BE A TURN-ON BUT WOWWW

PLEASE DO THAT A LOT MORE

his pronunciation was so beautiful, shoutout to whichever dialect coach sat there helping him say it right

-

03:34

“if you really cared about peace, you never would’ve left syria”

MICHEAL IS AN ASSHOLE

-

03:35

micheal: “you’re lost, and not worth saving”

definitely two distinct destiel concepts turned on their heads in six words there

cas’ “when he first laid his hand on you in hell, he was LOST”

and dean’s “you don’t think you deserve to be saved”

-

03:38

ooooo nice title card with the flapping wings

-

03:39

it’s so nice seeing the bunker crowded with good guys

-

03:39

this guy: sam season 18

500 other people probably made this joke already

-

03:42

sam: “maggie, can you hack the traffic cams on the freeway?”

maggie: “um................... no?”

relatable

-

03:44

BOBBY AND JACK YAYYY

god this makes me wanna write all the AUs where it’s not weird that character x is alive at the same time as character y. i know i do that a lot anyway but I WANT MORE

-

03:47

southern suit guy: “castiel... darling”

cas: “oh god” >:|

i love how cas is so done with everything and everyone, forever

my love for him knows no bounds

-

and i love that cas is still curious enough to ask “what did you just order?”

-

03:50

cas: *very calm, very stern, very slow* “does any demon know where dean winchester is?”

vs

*throws monster against tree* “WHERE’S THE ANGEL”

-

03:51

demon: “and how is it you lost dean? i thought the two of you were joined at the.......” *gestures to crotch* “you know... everything”

IS IT QUEERBAITING OR IS IT JUST QUEER WE JUST DON’T KNOW

BUT I’M ENJOYING IT

I’LL FUCKING TAKE IT, THANK YOU ANDREW DABB

-

03:54

oh cas :c

poor cas

he probably needs to read “how to win friends and influence people” tbh

if his first port of call to bargaining with demons is threatening them, that’s not getting him anywhere in the long run

not saying he deserved getting beaten up by a gang (hell no) but he probably could’ve offered, like, an angel feather or something

-

also whenever something bad happens to cas what makes me saddest is knowing that somewhere in the world there are people grinning with glee and taking it as confirmation that the character is worthless

i probably shouldn’t think about that but i do anyway

-

03:58

oh hey danneel!!! i didn’t know she’d be back, i’m glad she is

-

03:59

michael: “you don’t recognise me with this pretty face?”

1. michael thinks dean is pretty

2. i wonder how many casual viewers aren’t aware these two are married

-

04:02

you know what i find interesting

jensen seems to be able to control his face so that he doesn’t look obviously attracted to danneel in this scene (besides the chin touch)

i think his pupils are slightly dilated but that might be the low light

which leads me to believe

1. he’s trying extra hard because He’s Married To Her (and micheal has intense facial control anyway)

1.1. he doesn’t try so hard with misha because he doesn’t realise he’s doing it

2. he does the hearteyes and lip-licks with misha/cas on purpose because DEAN is attracted to cas

or ALL OF THE ABOVE

(and while 1.1 and 2 may seem to conflict, i theorise that jensen allows his natural reactions to show because he knows he likes misha and knows dean likes cas??)

anyway my point is that he showed less outward attraction to his wife than he does to his boyfriend and there’s probably a good reason for that and jensen was thinking about it while acting

-

04:08

the way michael hisses when he says “a placccccee..” and wobbles his head when he says “it’s very very human of you” reminds me of kaa from the jungle book (specifically the scarlett johannson live action/cgi version)

he a snek

-

micheal: “if they’re all these sad... lost... fallen things, maybe they’re not worth saving either”

clearly this guy never heard the story about the starfish

-

04:14

ugh lucifer’s still here? or ... wait is this the vessel?? oh mannnn poor dude

-

04:17

oh no sam, seeing his torturer being an okay guy now

everyone in this show is so traumatised

-

04:18

demon suit guy: “i’m the boy who’s got your angel! and you wanna seem him again... you know, alive, we should probably chat”

sam is having a bad day, i see

-

04:19

what’s cool about this episode so far is that yeah there’s a LOT going on

but it’s balanced and makes sense and is informative and entertaining, not a garbage pile of chaos like a deadly duo episode would be

-

04:23

cas does the best eye-rolls

and his eyelashes are so pretty

-

04:40

kip: “so take the deal, sam, before i stop trying to be crowley...... and show you who i really am”

a good line

-

04:44

hey the black dude survived!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the demon’s vessel is fine!!!!

that’s new

-

04:46

the fact the humans can all come out of that fight just looking lightly scratched and cas looks like he was attacked by a giant squirrel is quite a feat

-

04:48

jack: “all i did was get punched in the face”

cas: “to be fair, we all got punched in the face”

face punch solidarity!!

-

04:49

jack says without power he’s useless

cas: “oh jack... that’s just not true”

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT 300% LEVEL COMPLETED POWER BOOST TO ALL STATS

-

04:52

oh heckie deckie it looks like michael is gonna raise an army of monsters

-

WELP THAT WAS GREAT

10/10

NOBODY I CARED ABOUT DIED

SAVING PEOPLE, HUNTING THINGS

THE FAMILY BUSINESS

I LOVE WHEN THEY ALL LOVE EACH OTHER AND WORK TOGETHER

i look forward to seeing charlie and rowena later!!! since they’re still alive in this universe i believe

god this show is so much better when people aren’t dead

i still mourn for kevin though

jack is a lil cutie patootie, maggie is adorable also. like mice in a house of rabbits

cas is still and forever my favourite. <3 <3 <3 and i love when he’s such a valued part of the team and knows it implicitly

CAS IS LOVED AND KNOWS IT, AND LOVES OTHERS AND IS CLEAR ABOUT IT

HALLELUJAH

[jericho-rk3k]

Lil’ Brother: Hurts Like Hell

A/N: I listened to ‘Hurts Like Hell’ by Fleurie and dang, is it deep! This is my first time writing angst so please bear with me. Also, sorry if the characters are OOC. 

Pairing: Platonic

Prompt: A hunt with the Winchesters and your brother resulted in a glorious victory, a broken soul and a withering future.

Character: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Gabriel, OC 

“Y/N, are you okay? You seem… blue ever since the hunt,” Sam took a seat on the bar stool beside you with a glass filled with beer in his hand and a heart filled with worry in his chest.

You turned away from him and hastily wiped away the tears that were welling up in your bloodshot eyes. You grabbed the beer bottle and chugged every last drop of it, hoping that the cool liquid would quench your dry and burning throat, only to find that the flames were burning much larger than before.

“I’m f-fine, j-just ti-tired,” you were surprised at how your voice sounded: hoarse and entirely broken, you clenched your fist tightly, hoping that the condition of your voice would go unnoticed by Sam. However, the look on his face told another story.

You wanted to look away from Sam’s eyes that were pleading you to let him unlock the rusty iron doors to your soul. The grip you had on the glass tightened, and silence prolonged amongst you two before being dissolved by the noises which would normally make you feel sick in the crowded bar. Tonight, everything you hated was soothing you, the noises, the pleas, the cries.

“I-I, you can talk to me ab-about it,” Sam stuttered, unsure what to say as a single wrong word could possibly shatter your already frail being to million pieces.

How could you say it without breaking?

How could you say it without taking over?

How could you put it into words when it’s too much for your soul alone?

You bit your lips harshly to stop the tides of depression from hitting the shores and bringing everything along with them. You were too busy holding back the pain that you didn’t notice hot tears streaming down your cheeks like a waterfall until Sam was gently dabbing your cheeks with tissues and engulfing your tiny body with his much larger one.

He knew you didn’t want the others see you so broken and hurt and you were thankful that he hid you away from the twisted world.

“I-I lo-loved him, Sam, and n-now, h-he’s dead,” you sniffed into his chest, your tears and snot staining his shirt but none of you really cared.

You were done keeping it to yourself although it had been only three days. After you were done swimming in your pool of pain, you let go of Sam and wiped your face roughly.

Without wasting any seconds, you requested another shot of beer, and another, and another, that your part of the counter was full of empty glasses and Ellen was shooting you worried glances and signaling one of your brothers to talk some sense to you. Sam silently dismissed her, understanding that you needed to numb the pain as he had been through the same thing.

You couldn’t remember how he looked or sounded, your mind was mush and you were sure that you could go insane from the images flashing through your mind rapidly without control.

So, you kept drinking till you could remember him. You kept drinking till you saw him instead of Sam. You kept drinking till the feeling of his warm blood stained your hands.

You knew you weren’t drunk even after drinking like an alcoholic because the pain was not numb and the sea of solemnness was not frozen. The aggravating agony was too powerful that it was controlling you like a string puppet against your will.

He was the love of your life, answers to your questions, key to your heart and all that crap. You didn’t know how it felt to fall in love step by step until you met him.

His goofy smile, his husky yet warm voice, his jokes and his puns and the memories were written somewhere on your heart but the snow had managed to cover all tracks of him.

You wanted to rip out your heart and melt the crap out of the snow so you could remember him again.

After one year into your relationship, you learned that he was a vampire and you were an angel and surprisingly, you accepted him and he accepted you, paying no mind to the fact that both of you kept secrets because you knew that one of you would eventually confess to each other at some point of time.

Sure, you guys fight but you still managed to accept him whole. None of you wasted time bickering about one another but instead spent time reflecting and loving each other because both of you knew life was unexpected.

You enjoyed the time you were with him but now, the happiest memories were killing you the most and the saddest memories were helping you the most.

Your brothers didn’t know about him because you knew they wouldn’t accept it, so both of you agreed to maintain silence.

You would be with him at his house at this time watching Netflix if the gears in his body were still turning and his heart pumping life and love. But he wasn’t, and here you are, waddling in a puddle of beer and tears.

You were surprised to hear his desperate prayers for you that day, it was tragic and painful, his voice; anguished cries to save him. By the time he heard the flutters of your wings, Dean had already swung the axe, sending his head into your arms, his warmth ghosting you.

Dean and the others were trying to hunt a group of thirsty vampires and had mistaken him for one of them although he only drank cattle blood. He had been fighting with the other group of vampires with his family, trying to save a girl from being sucked dry. The girl died in his arms and the bloodsuckers had fled so he was easily mistaken as the enemy.

Later, you returned to his dead body and gave the whole family a proper burial before going to his house. In his room, there were clothes strewn everywhere and pieces of papers on his desk and trash bin. He had been planning to ask you to marry him next month, on your birthday, by gifting his heart and himself as a present to you. You thought it was cheesy and sweet but it would have been so much funnier to see him do it in front of you but atlas, the day never came.

A bracelet was there instead of ring but he was always eccentric, though you found the design of the bracelet similar to the ring and pocket watch that two of your brothers had gave you as birthday presents. Then, you remembered his family was jewelry makers and it was logical to think one of their ancestors made the ring and pocket watch.

After you poured what was left of your heart to Sam, you found Dean wide eyed. Then, you suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline and anger flashing through your mind.

He was drunk and you knew it, but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted by the words that came out of his mouth, words that you knew that he would regret in the morning.

Castiel and Gabriel were looking at you as if you were some kind of abomination and that’s when you lost it.

You weren’t fond of that night as it had ended in blood, tears and betrayal. You were beyond hurt at that point although all of them would regret doing these things tomorrow morning but you couldn’t handle all the disgust and hate, and the fact that one of your best friends killed the love of your life with the help of your brothers. You couldn’t handle seeing your love’s murderer everyday, so you left. You left, trying to find some kind of peace somewhere in the world. You travelled restlessly, from America to Europe to Asia and back to Europe, aiming your bow and arrow at something that would eventually come find you one day.

One day, you would eventually accept the fact that he was gone and move on, apologize to all your loved ones for your disappearance and try to live your life. You knew you wouldn’t forget but you would forgive.

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed it. I don’t even know anything anymore.

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester, and special guest, Crowley

Word Count: 3331 (Part 8)

A/N: Part 8 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. Oh my…the angst. Rest assured, I plan to stuff the fluffiest damn epilogue ever down my muse’s throat in retaliation to restore the natural balance. The epilogue will be posted on 8/29 to give you all a chance to brine in your own tears catch up on the story.

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. The Winchesters locate Crowley’s elusive mystery box, and the powerful secret it contains is heartbreaking.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

In the end, no words remain. There is no spoken solace to share, nor any valediction to express the unspeakable. No words exist. There is only the merciless march of time – marked by a luminous red-orange summer sun eternally devoured by the horizon – the blotchy orange and purpled hue of lost day bruising the clouds and rippling reflected in the lake in reminiscence of a passionately blazing light forever fated to fade to night.

“It’s time,” Sam murmured softly, apologetically – ever the more tactful brother. He towered, sentinel on the shore, gazing out onto the huddled forms of you and the angel watching the sunset at water’s edge. Fists jammed into his jacket pockets, he futilely sought amongst the lint therein the comfort none of you would find this night.

Sam’s voice reverberated hollowly in Castiel’s heart. To be entirely accurate given the circumstances, what the hunter should have said was, specifically, your time together is ending. The angel made no motion in the slightest to move.

“Castiel,” the name arose a quivering whisper in your throat – the utterance burdened with one last prayerful request: I can’t do this alone. Lend me your strength. Let me lean on you. Hold me up when my legs falter. Take my hand, my brave and beautiful angel, and we will carry each other.

Calloused trembling fingers laced with yours, he clung unfailingly to you.

Rising together, you numbly traversed the winding path to the cottage. Delaying for a moment in the glowing wash of lamp light beneath the porch, you ignored the looming black shades of the brothers within beckoning your haste. Stooping, you plucked a delicate stem of periwinkle, undamaged by the careless tread of demons that morning, from the ground. You secured the blossoming blue bunch of petals in the button hole of the angel’s trench coat and straightened the silken blue striped knot of his tie. Fresh tears stinging your eyes, you gazed into the misty blue ocean of his melancholy aspect.

Dark hair. Trench coat. Handsome. The saddest blue eyes...

The hospital description flitted in your memory. Yet for a time, those eyes had gleamed with shared joy and immeasurable love. Expressively curious, wide in wonderment, dotingly soft, amorously dilated, crinkled in amusement – you longed for anything but this bleak sadness now dimming his expression.

“Y/N, I…” Cas gathered your hands in his, drawing them to rest over his heart. Tears dampening his eyes, he leaned in to kiss your forehead – balanced at the very brink of heartbreak, there was nothing left for him to say.

Dean’s presence on the landing of the porch stair and the single grim nod of his head denoted the rapidly diminishing window of opportunity to complete the ritual.

Lips lingering on your brow, the angel closed his eyes, pleading with the departed sun, with his absent father, with the universe itself, with anyone out there who cared to listen for one more minute.

*   *   *   *   *

“That limey little bastard!” Dean roared furiously, slamming a balled fist on the wooden planked table with a sharp crack.

Like Cas, Sam and Dean, having been informed of the demons’ pre-attack dialogue, concluded that the description of the moody boss the demons referred to uncannily applied to a certain self-serving melodramatic King of Hell they collectively loved to hate.

“What I don’t get is why they banished Cas every time we got close?” Sam pondered aloud, brow knotted in thought. “But then at the same time Crowley kept insisting we needed Cas’ help to locate the box.”

“Maybe keeping Cas close was also a handy way of getting rid of him when push came to shove?” Dean speculated.

“That makes sense,” Cas interjected, “Crowley knows banishment is extremely taxing and a convenient way to temporarily dispose of an angel. Each group of demons we encountered was armed with the knowledge and means to subdue my angelic advantage.” Inclining his square jaw toward the failed banishment sigil drawn on the wall, he continued, “The blood they used there is mine. I don’t know how he obtained it, but to go to such extreme lengths, whatever he seeks must be extremely valuable. There is no more powerful method aside from death to dispatch of me. But then why not simply kill me? Why instruct the demons to spare my life?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s exposed a soft spot for one of us,” Sam suggested, rapping his knuckles pointedly on the table.

“Yeah, right. Deep down in that shriveled black heart he’s a real teddy bear,” Dean snorted a laugh, throwing his hands up in the air. “You won’t convince me that him wanting Cas alive is for any reason other than Crowley’s own demented benefit.”

“And what makes him think the box is here anyway?” Sam quirked an inquiring eyebrow, coolly considering the mess of the kitchen. “We must be missing something.”

Padding quietly into the room, eyes red and puffy, you stopped to peer between the openly agitated bearing of Dean and the more reserved brooding of Sam. You had no trouble identifying them as the Winchesters based on Cas’ colorful descriptions. Your focus settled on the sullen form of the seraph slouching against the counter.

“Y/N, you’re awake,” his stature straightened, blue eyes regarding you with concern. Propelling off the counter’s edge, he strode forward to meet you.

Your notice followed the flapping hem of his trench coat, countenance contorting in dread as he avoided stepping in the congealed pool of blood surreally corralled within the spilled flour where hours ago you had stabbed and killed the demon.

Grasping your shoulder, Cas turned you away from the gory reminder and into his calming embrace. Smoothing your hair, palm sliding to reassuringly rub your back, he drew you firmly into his chest. His lips and unshaven chin brushed the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke, “It’s alright, I’ve got you. The demons are gone. Sam and Dean are here now.”

You shuddered in his encircling arms, spluttering, “Cas, they looked like people. Why did they look like regular people?” You choked on the sickening lump rising in your throat, “She was so…so…human.” In the sum of his existence laid bare to you, Castiel had shown you demons in their true form, as a celestial being perceives them, and they were truly the stuff of nightmares – unmistakably twisted damnable corrupt abominations in no way resembling a human.

Clasping your arms to steady your swaying figure, Cas angled backward to stare earnestly into your anxious features, “Listen to me Y/N, it wasn’t human. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

Sniffling, you nodded.

“What you did was very brave,” he added. Palms rising to caringly cup your face, he suppressed the desire to admonish the foolishness of your act in the same sentence. He guiltily believed his life wasn’t worth the price you paid in the form of the black mark now marring your soul. Good, evil, accidental, justified – unfortunately the motive for taking a life and the nature of the life taken don’t matter in the accounting of deeds recorded upon the soul.

A tear sprang to life from the corner of your eye to meander jaggedly down your pallid cheek. Brave – it wasn’t the word you would choose. Not brave, you thought, blinking another tear into existence, terrified. Terrified of losing you.

Cas smeared the salty drops across your skin with a sweep of his thumbs. The angel understood better than most that brave and terrified sometimes meant the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered the gravelly promise, winding his arms securely about you to squeeze you tight. He meant it.

“Well, would you look at the two little lovebirds.” Crowley cooed, stepping forth from an unobserved corner. “Doesn’t it just make you want to spend a carefree sordid afternoon peeling the unsullied flesh off a screaming virgin?” The demon congratulated himself with an extra cocky swagger in his gait at having startled the brothers with his unexpected entrance for the second time in a week. His grin arrogantly stretched even wider at evidently having also astounded the angel. “What? No one else? Humph.”

Dean audibly groaned, “I see you're still on the bird kick.”

Crowley curtly bowed at the elder Winchester – he greatly appreciated Dean’s continued annoyed interest.

Cas spun to protectively shield you with his body, angel blade materializing ready in hand.

“Sammy, I told you if you said his name three times in a row he’d show up,” Dean grumbled.

Sam reflexively reached into his jacket, fingers fondling the handle of the demon blade protruding from an inside pocket.

“Now, now, boys. No need for knives,” Crowley wagged a reproaching finger, “we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” He worryingly caught your eye and winked.

An involuntary tremor wracked your frame as you clung to Cas.

“Try again,” Dean’s lip curled into a snarl.

“Comrades in arms?” Crowley proposed, grin gradually dispersing from his mouth at the unanswered silence. “Business associates then,” he conceded. “And as such, enough with the inane formalities. I’m here to collect my prize as per our arrangement.”

“We haven’t found the box,” Sam sidled sideways, shifting his position so that Crowley was surrounded, forcing the demon to split his watchfulness in three directions. Sam’s statement was the truth. After disposing of the demons, the brothers and the angel had spent the morning combing over every inch and rifling through every nook and cranny of the house and surrounding gardens in search of anything ancient, odd, or eminently powerful – coming up empty handed.

Crowley’s mocking scowl fixed on Dean, “Your brother really is as daft as he looks, isn’t he?”

Sam scoffed at the demon’s turned back.

“There’s nothing here,” Cas growled in defense of Sam, and to draw Crowley’s concentration.

“Isn’t there?” the self-satisfied grin reemerged on Crowley’s mouth. Thrusting his hands idly into his pockets, he elaborated, pacing in a small circle, “You know those age old manuscripts can be actual hell to translate, especially when the author gets a bit self-indulgent writing the more florid narratives.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” he adjusted the grip on his weapon with a deft flick of the wrist to maintain Crowley’s undivided attention. In his periphery, the angel observed Dean retrieve demon trap handcuffs from a pocket and hide them behind his back while Sam masked the tinny clink of the metal chain by pretending to clumsily stumble on some pots and pans strewn on the floor.

Unruffled by the noise, Crowley smirked sinisterly, “Box, container, vessel...human.” He glanced about, unashamedly savoring the range of appalled emotions in your individual reactions to the implication. Composing his gratified sneer into a prim grin, he went on, “Trifling details if you ask my opinion. They’re all created with an empty space on the inside meant to hold something.”

“Human?” Sam darted his eyes in your direction.

“I didn’t know what to expect, not at first. What with the translation troubles and the general ineptitude of my staff,” Crowley pressed his lips thin in contrived remorse, “that’s where you boys came in. Call it outsourcing.” Withdrawing his hands from his pockets, he clasped them somberly behind his back.

“What do we have to do with any of this?” Sam baited.

“You and Foghorn Leghorn over there? Next to nothing. But Chicken Little, your very own sky is falling angel, was the key to everything,” Crowley’s covetous red gaze fell upon you, “to unlocking the limits of her potential.”

Castiel raised his weapon, a surging glow of menacing grace glimmering behind his eyes.

Dean seized the distracting demonstration of power as a chance to leap forward and shackle Crowley’s wrists.

“You Winchesters,” Crowley griped, not bothering to test the restraint, “always such gentlemen.” Sam dragged a chair over and Dean shoved the demon roughly into the seat. Grunting, Crowley quipped, “At least buy a girl dinner first.”

“I don’t understand,” you pulled at Cas’ sleeve, “what does he mean? My potential?”

“Oh darling, you’re the proverbial forbidden fruit,” Crowley purred, “plump, ripe for the picking, and teeming with angelic juices by the seedy smell of it. Your paramour’s father forbade angels to have intimate relations with humans,” he winked provocatively at Cas, “but lover boy here wasn’t thinking with his halo gilded head when he met you, was he?”

“Enough!” Cas growled. Lunging at the demon, he coarsely grabbed a clump of hair in his fist, yanking backward to press the point of the angel blade into the soft pocket of flesh beneath his smugly set jaw. “You’re wrong. The forbidden fruit is a fable. There is no such object in creation.”

“I thought the forbidden fruit was an apple,” Dean kidded.

“No, I think it was a pomegranate,” Sam jibed.

“What’s with the fig leaves then?” Dean rounded an eyebrow, crudely waving in the vicinity of his crotch.

“The angel is right, it was never an object,” Crowley spat through clenched teeth, “it was merely an idea. A seed of thought planted to flourish into fruit to feed temptation and fuel a revolution of sin. But don’t worry, I’m not interested in any of her fleshy bits saturated with your angelic stink. You’re free to keep those. I only want that nurturing organ of life, her heart. The souls I can lead astray with that most forbidden of loves it contains…mmm…”

Eyes aglow, Cas dug the tip of the blade further into the demon’s neck, the piercing of skin producing a rivulet of red.

“Of course, I’m sure any passing resemblance of these lush gardens to Eden are purely coincidental,” Crowley hissed.

“Castiel,” grasping the angel by the elbow to gentle his rage, you bade him look at you, “stop. No more death.”

Cas reluctantly released the victoriously grinning demon.

“Not yet anyway,” you glared at Crowley until his grin faltered. “What makes you so certain I’m this terrible temptation?”

Crowley peered, in turn, into the glowering faces of the Winchesters and wallowed for a second in the wrath simmering within the angel’s aspect before returning his decorously cowed courtesies to you, “Well, there’s the trivial matter of the spell. And then X marks the spot. Or in this case, a tailor-made blood banishment sigil leading directly to a particular angel’s special someone. Conveniently, I knew just the unwitting angel for the job.”

“So you used Cas?” Dean asked, exhaling contemptuously through his nose.

“Hello, have we met?” the demon rolled his beady eyes, “Crowley, King of Hell.”

“Because he was convenient?” Sam reproached.

“Remind me again why you sad sacks of man meat are so surprised?” the demon jeered.

“I say we kill him now and call it a day,” Dean shrugged indifferently.

“What kind of a moron do you take me for?” Crowley barked. “Kill me, and you can expect the whole host of Heaven to come calling when the sun sets.” He smirked, “Call it a dead man’s switch.”

You met Cas’ despondent gaze, a sense of dread pitting your stomach.

“Then we run, hide you two in the bunker until we can figure something out,” Sam suggested.

“And where do you think they’ll go searching first?” Crowley sassed.

“So we make a stand, it’s not like we haven’t kicked angelic ass before,” Dean advocated.

“When they find out their favorite black sheep has been buggering Little Bo Peep, you can bet they won’t be sending in the lowly choir boys to sing his praises,” Crowley countered. “I’m not the only party interested in bending this power to my advantage.”

Gazing resolutely into your angel’s despairing blue eyes, your lips moved without feeling, tongue torpid and thick against the roof of your mouth, the fateful words echoing in your ears like a distant thunder as you spoke, “The spell, can it be reversed?”

“Ay,” Crowley sneered, “there’s the rub.”

“How?” you asked, voice cracking dryly.

Cas’ chin dropped to his chest, stature visibly sinking.

“No,” Dean interceded, his heart aching at the sight of his crestfallen friend, “we’ll find another way.”

Your timorous fingertips ghosted the white-knuckles of the angel’s clinched fist, begging his support with a humble thought. This is bigger than you and I.

Palm opening to accept yours, his desolate gaze slowly lifted to look at the leering demon. Even though he held your hand tight and felt the warmth of your skin on his, he sensed you slipping away. Brave and terrified, he raspingly repeated your question, “How?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Crowley crooned.

The solution was excruciatingly simple – the very same banishment sigil wrought from Castiel’s angelic blood which had delivered him to you would, upon being completed with the nourishing ebb of life flowing in your veins, banish him cruelly from your heart and break the power of the spell.

*   *   *   *   *

One final minute. One more loving embrace. One more tearful kiss. One more gentle healing caress of angelic grace to relieve the sting of the knife gashing the pale palm held upturned in wavering hands. One more swim in the unfathomable depths of a watery sea of celestial blue. One more bask in the radiant warmth of a beautiful soul. And one final fond smile exchanged as your bleeding palm sparks upon the sigil to flood the space with blindingly bright white light; because, once upon a time, for a brief while, you belonged to each other. And no one, not on Earth, nor in Heaven or Hell, not anyone in the whole of the universe, can take those cherished minutes from you.

Sam caught you as you slumped slowly to the floor. Ripped from the room and excised raggedly from your heart, Castiel was gone, leaving you alone to tend to your gardens and nurse the nameless aching emptiness haunting your heart that you longed to fill with something beautiful.

The angel stirred at the noisome insistence of the phone vibrating in his pocket, or perhaps it was the rank smell clinging to the general air which roused him. Either way, sitting upright in a sluice of flotsam, he found himself embedded in a steaming pile of garbage on a transport barge slinking, he surmised from the distant New York City skyline, somewhere along the Hudson River. Most likely, he supposed, en route to New Jersey for ultimate disposal. Politely bobbing his chin in apology to the suspiciously squawking sleep-disturbed seagull situated several feet to his left, he squinted at the multiple texts from Dean:

Where are you?

Why do you own a phone if you never use it?

I’m telling Sam to take you off the family plan when we get home. The concept of unlimited texts is lost on you.

ARE YOU OKAY?

Slime-covered thumbs poised over the screen, the angel considered his reply before typing. He wasn’t certain how he’d come to rest on the barge. His vessel appeared to be physically intact save for a smoldering patch or two of trench coat and riotously refuse tousled hair. His grace was depleted by such a negligible degree that any dip in power went absolutely unnoticed by him. Looking down for visual confirmation of this interpreted fineness, he plucked from his lapel a curious cluster of sweetly fragrant charred cerulean blooms. On objective examination, he deemed himself okay. Yet something indiscernible in the dull beat of his angelic heart gave him the distinctly opposite impression. Glancing around in search of an elusive answer, his regard elevated from the tiny flowers in his grasp to the gloomy rain-threatening clouds above. He caught sight of the dying glimmer of a solitary star shining through and then consumed by the thickening haze. Lightning dazzlingly engulfed the sky for an instant in a myriad splendor of violently churning azure and indigo. Fat droplets of cold rain unleashing from the heavens to pelt his upturned face, the angel could not shake the feeling something precious had been lost to him.

Epilogue:

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