#the whole time dean’s brain has stopped working | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

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

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work.

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you.

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-��

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could.

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him.

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty.

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that.

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible.

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you.

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something.

But you can’t talk to John Winchester.

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time.

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester.

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you.

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat. “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort.

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all.

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. “Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.”

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place. It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?”

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave.

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in.

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut.

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are.

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It��s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl.

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?”

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone. “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this.

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you-

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against.

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down.

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you.

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy.

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then.

“Winchester.”

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves.

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur.

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball.

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face.

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away.

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that.

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door.

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?”

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed.

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture.

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too.

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do.

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.”

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too.

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh.

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy.

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.”

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away.

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone.

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists.

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in.

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet.

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one.

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do.

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it.

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this.

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it.

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution.

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn.

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare.

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction.

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it.

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive.

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real.

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @dailybakugocrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@Youdontknowwe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown

354 notes · View notes

whimsyfinny · 5 months ago

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader

Warnings: language, anxious Dean, anxious Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2683

MDNI 18+

A/N: another slightly shorter chapter (sorry). Idk why but I rewrote this chapter so many times to try and get it right, so fingers crossed it’s not awful. But the encounter finally happens! Not long now until we get to see Dean doing dad things, and tbh, I’m living for it. Feedback is always appreciated! Love you all

A/N2: GUYS IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING but PLEEEEASE provide your age if you want to be added to the taglist and it isn’t in your blog. This story is tame now but it’s gonna get spicy, and my blog is strictly 18+. So pleeeeease save be a very long job and help a gal out.

Photos from Pinterest

New Readers Start Here: Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Spilling the truth took a lot less time than I'd anticipated, so after a quick update texted to Kat and the much needed coffees, Dean and I decided to head over to the track. Dean himself was feeling every emotion under the sun. He expressed a constant string of heartfelt apologies for nearly the whole walk from Jolenes’ Café back to where we'd parked, despite me constantly reminding him that he has nothing to apologise for. He's here now, and that's what matters. The phrases ‘I have a son,’ and ‘I’m a dad’ seemed to intertwine with the ‘I’m sorry’s’ like a mantra, to the point where I had to stop him in his tracks and refocus his attention before his head got lost in the clouds.

“I get it, Dean. This is so much to absorb right now, and I can't imagine what is going on in that crazy brain of yours. You don't have to come with me right now, we can meet tomorrow if you want-”

“No, absolutely not. I've been absent for too long and I'll be damned if I waste another minute,” he nervously wiped his hands over his face as we approached my truck. I couldn't help but smile. “I mean, what if he doesn't like me?”

I couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping my mouth, earning a raised eyebrow from the man who was working himself into an anxious sweat.

“Dean, trust me, he's going to want to be your best friend. Especially when he knows that’s your car,” I nodded my head to the impala a few spaces away, recalling Levi's excitement when he saw it in town yesterday.

“Really?”

“Really. Plus…” I hesitated, unsure what emotion my next statement was going to stir within Dean, “he's been bullied for not having a dad around, and I think he'll be grateful for that to stop.”

Deans’ brows furrowed as he leant on the side of my truck, dropping his head and muttering a few curses.

“He's been bullied because I've not been there?” He looked up with a pained pinch in his brow. I sighed.

“Yes but trust me, your boy gives as good as he gets,” I smiled a little, bringing Dean some reassurance. I could tell the words ‘your boy’ had an effect on him. “Look,” I reached out to rub his shoulder affectionately, to which he responded with a warm hand over mine, squeezing my fingers. “We need to get going to pick him up. Why don't you come in my truck with me?” He paused for a moment, thinking, gathering his thoughts before standing up straight and nodding. “Great,” I grinned at him, a few nervous butterflies fluttering in my own stomach now. I reached for his hand again, giving it another squeeze, “let's get going then.”

Dean had insisted on driving, mainly for his own sanity and I’d happily obliged, remembering what a terrible passenger he was. After a couple of painstaking minutes of him readjusting my seat, we pulled away and headed down to the track.

The drive was about twenty minutes, and most of that was spent in a comfortable conversation about Levi. Dean wanted to know everything. And I mean everything. His hobbies, his favourite movie, his favourite cereal, his least favourite cereal, his grades, his favourite subject… the list went on. Before we knew it, we were turning down a dirt road and pulling into a large gravel car park. As we pulled up and hopped out, the buzz of dirt bikes and loud chatter filled the air, along with the intense smell of petrol. Dean walked around to my side, looking around and taking it all in.

“Levi does this? He can ride a dirt bike?” he asked, an impressed tone to his voice. Dean had forgone the leather jacket and as I glanced at him, I couldn't help but trail my gaze over his biceps and the way the grey fabric of his t-shirt stretched around the large muscles. I looked away quickly before he caught me. Now was not the time to let my eyes or thoughts wander.

“Yeah, he's really into it, and he's good too; he has a few trophies at home. To be honest, he loves anything with wheels and an engine,” I grinned, meeting Deans’ eyes with a knowing look. He smiled back.

“Really?”

“You know, he's a lot like you - even though you've never met. It's kinda crazy,” I started heading down to the gathering point, knowing that Levi would be coming off the track soon. Dean was hot on my heels. “He even looks like you.”

“Poor kid.”

I smacked him on the arm playfully as Dean chuckled.

“You're handsome and you know it, so shut your mouth.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Just as we were approaching the gathering point I heard a familiar voice calling my name. Looking through the crowd I saw Kat trotting up to us in her poorly chosen footwear, Toby nowhere in sight. She pulled me into a hug with a smirk already growing on her lips, and as she pulled back she turned to study the tall man at my side.

“Hmm… you are even finer than your photograph.”

“Kat!”

She ignored me.

“I'm Kat, it's nice to meet you, Dean. I feel like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. You know, since our son's are besties,” she stuck out her hand and grasped Deans, giving it a firm shake and dropping it before he'd even uttered a word. She turned back to me, her smirk still on her lips.

“Since Levi is coming home with you today - much to Toby's disappointment - how would you feel about him sleeping over tomorrow?”

“Yeah totally, he'd love that,” I grinned at her, forever grateful.

“Great! I'll pick him up tomorrow,” she beamed, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before turning on her heels and heading back into the crowd of parents. We'd normally wait for the boys to emerge together, but I know her, and she didn't want to step on Deans’ toes. This was a big deal, and in her eyes, she was the outsider here.

“What was that?” Dean looked at me, slightly stunned with a quizzical brow.

“That,” I gestured to Kat's disappearing figure, “is Kat. She's my best friend, and to be honest I don't think I'd have made it this far without her.”

“Kat. Got it,” he seemed to make a mental note of who she was, catching on quickly that she was an important person in my life. In Levi's life. I grinned at him, perhaps a little nervously before grasping his hand and pulling him with me in the same direction Kat had left.

“Come on, he’ll be out soon, let's wait for him.”

Dean flashed the smallest smile whilst taking a deep breath. He looked down at our hands and I noticed his palms were a little sweaty. He gripped tighter, hanging to me like I was a lifeline as I pulled him through the crowd. His silence spoke volumes of his nerves, so I stopped at the edge of the gaggle of parents, fearing that he would soon find this all too much.

For the whole five minutes that we waited, Dean didn't let go of me.

It didn't take long for the whirring of tiny engines to draw closer and closer before finally stopping, shortly followed by the chatter of smaller, childlike voices. Kids began to filter through the crowd, and it wasn’t long before a familiar outline pushing a small, black dirt bike headed our way. Suddenly Dean pulled his hand away from mine and raked his fingers frantically through his hair, pacing in a small circle.

“Shit…shit- what do I say to him? How do I talk to him? He's gonna hate me-”

“Hey hey hey, calm down, everything is fine! Trust me, Dean, Levi is not going to hate you,” I reached to rub a hand over the back of his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and flex with every deep breath he took.

“I've done a lot of terrifying shit in my life but this really takes the cake,” he dragged a large hand over his paleing face.

“He's an eight year old boy, baby. Trust me, you've got this.”

He sighed before stopping in his tracks, his gaze catching mine with a twitch of his lip.

“It's been a hot minute since you've called me that, sweetheart,” he stepped closer, reaching to touch the small of my back with tender fingertips.

It took a moment for realisation to dawn, and when it did I felt heat bloom across my cheeks.

“I-I'm sorry- it just slipped out- I didn't mean-”

“(Y/n) it's ok! I don't mind,” he chuckled slightly, his nerves seeming to dissipate. The playful glint had returned to his eye for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with something calmer, more serene. His grin lessened, but the warmth in his features remained. “I don't mind.”

I looked up at him, my heart and stomach feeling warm and light as we seemed to acknowledge our own familiarity between each other. It wasn't just Levi that connected us, and I seemed to forget that Dean and I used to be in a relationship. We were more than just a one night stand - we were intimate on multiple levels.

“Hey mom!”

The bubble around Dean and I popped as Levi had crept up on us, crash helmet still equipped and his bike to his side. I felt Dean tense beside me, the air around him practically sizzling with anticipation.

“Hey there, trouble! You had a good afternoon?” I stepped up to Levi and patted his helmet. He nodded vigorously.

“Great! You can tell me all about it in the car,” I paused and glanced at Dean, frozen in place and not taking his eyes off Levi since he appeared. It took a moment for Levi to realise that Dean was even standing there, his focus still on me and his fun afternoon. After a few breaths, Dean tore his gaze away from his son and he looked over at me, his expression heavy with a whole concoction of emotions. I offered him a small smile before nodding.

“Hey, Levi,” I crouched down to my sons’ level, “I have a surprise for you. I'm gonna need you to take your helmet off, ok?”

I saw his eyes light up as he nodded vigorously. Helping him to support his bike, he eagerly tore his helmet off, his short brown hair tousling in the process. He grinned at me, his helmet now tucked under his arm as he waited patiently. I heard a sharp inhale hiss through Deans’ teeth from behind me as he laid eyes on his sons’ face for the first time. I smiled at Levi, taking his smaller, dirt covered hand in mine.

“Ok, so… You see this man behind me?” I tilted my head in Deans’ direction, and Levi followed with his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin unfaltering.

“Well,” I drew in a breath, “his name is Dean. And I knew Dean a long time ago,” there was another apprehensive pause as my own pulse quickened. “Sweetheart… Dean… He’s, well… He’s your dad.”

I watched as the grin fell from Levis’ face, his green eyes widening.

“What?” his voice was all but a whisper, his gaze flitting rapidly between me and Dean, who’d now taken a step closer.

“He’s your dad,” I repeated, reaching up to softly comb my fingers through the front of his wild hair. Levis’ bottom lip started to tremble as my words sunk in, the truth of the situation we were in starting to hit home as tears started to well in his eyes.

“You’re serious?” he squeaked with a sniff.

I nodded, the emotions from my son now bleeding into me, a lump forming in my throat.

“Yeah honey, I’m serious.”

Levis’ helmet hit the dirt with a thud and in that instant he’d thrown himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his mud streaked face into his shirt. His dad didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, wrapping his large arms around Levis’ shoulders and pulling him into the same crushing hug I’d received earlier today.

“Hey kid,” Dean spoke against the top of Levis’ head, his voice rasping as he choked his words out, “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here.”

I stood up from where I’d been crouching, now clutching the small helmet that had been flung to the ground. I drew Deans’ attention as I shifted, and I felt like my heart could have exploded in my chest when I saw the glossiness in his eyes. Tears of joy, relief and perhaps even bittersweet regret were on the brink of spilling over, and the soft smile he threw my way said a million ‘thank yous’. The quiet sounds of Levis’ sniffling were what pulled on my heartstrings the most. The boy who loved nothing more than to race bikes, watch movies and talk about cars had grown up without a dad to share those interests with. He’d watched the other kids around him down at the track, their fathers joining in with the activities. Other kids had their dads to play sports with down at the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon. They’d had a role model who they could admire, always in the bedroom next to theirs. But not Levi. He’d had me, and I did my best to fill those fatherly shoes, but we both knew it just wasn’t the same. There were times when I think it upset me more than it had upset him, feeling like my child was missing out on something so important. But now… now that Dean was here, for however long he was planning on staying, Levi could finally experience the things he’d dreamt of for so long. I just hoped it would turn out to be everything that he’d ever imagined.

I watched as Levi finally pulled away from his dad, his tears having cleaned tracks through the mud on his face. He sniffed one my time before beaming up at Dean.

“Hey, kid,” Dean smiled softly, ruffling his hair with a hand the same size as his head, “maybe if your moms ok with it, we could hang out a bit. Maybe go and grab some ice-cream? My treat,” Dean shifted that smile to me, and I would’ve had to have had a heart of stone to decline that request.

“Of course,” I smiled back, “ice-cream sounds perfect.”

“Great,” Deans’ grin widened, a refreshed look in his eye as he let go of Levi and stepped towards me, taking the helmet from my hands. My breath caught in my throat when he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to my cheek. I took everything to not let my eyes flutter closed, to not get lost in that moment, but the familiar feeling of his lips on my skin and scent washing over awoke the butterflies in my stomach. My heart leapt in my chest, and I couldn’t help the sigh of relief when he pulled away, stepping around me. He kicked the bike stand back and wheeled the small vehicle forwards, looking at Levi and urging him to come and push it.

“Come on kid, why don’t you tell me all about this beast on our way back to the truck,” he smiled to his son who beamed back, leaping over to him. Dean chuckled slightly as the smaller version of himself burst into conversation about top speeds and engine strokes, and the wide look in Deans’ eyes as he glanced up at me, finally understanding what I’d meant when I’d said they were so alike. And as Levi chatted animatedly to his dad as we walked, my heart swelled as I watched them.

I couldn’t seem to look away as I witnessed Dean gaze down at his son, looking like the proudest father in the world.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Taglist: @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx @rox2008 @jeysbae @ladykitana90 @proudbisexual @ladysparkles78 @elenasalvatore1 @bxtchboy69 @saemiau @lilithlunastark @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @riah1606 @impala67rollingthroughtown @berryblues46 @aylacavebear @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #dean x female!reader #dean smut #supernatural dean #deanwinchester #eventual smut #supernatural smut #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural

221 notes · View notes

scoobydoodean · 2 months ago

Text

I hate how long the whole Amy thing is drawn out because I hate her ass. But Sam and Dean making up at the end of the whole thing is actually shockingly wholesome. I may hate Amy, but I do support Sam's right to be upset that Dean went behind his back and lied about it. And so does Dean, because lying to Sam about Amy is something Dean's been feeling terrible about for weeks.

When Sam finds out, he says he can't be around Dean. Dean gives Sam space without protest. For a week and a half, they don't speak. It's possible Dean's tried to call, but we see that Sam hasn't left him any messages (and Dean's been checking). Sam and Dean happen to reunite in "The Mentalist" because they just so happen to pursue the same case (because again. As I am always saying. #sam the hunter). Sam is not sure about working together when he first sees Dean, because he's still pissed, but he's also hiding a smile at Dean's antics almost immediately behind his cold exterior. Dean is definitely laying it on thick with the banter and the jokes (as Leviathan!Dean said last episode: Dean thinks he's a comedian) and no one has been there to laugh or glare disapprovingly at his jokes for the last week and a half (as pointedly illustrated when Dean investigates the crime scene alone at the beginning of the episode and tells a joke to an empty room). Dean jumps right into his thoughts on the case quickly, which Sam probably appreciates as he's been pouring over a bunch of lore and case details alone, and he agrees to work together with only a token protest about still being mad at Dean. Big "you're on thin ice" vibes.

But their squabble is so JUICY. First of all, it happens right after a psychic pulls Dean aside to give him a message from Ellen of all people:

I’m sorry, I don't normally do this during business hours, but do you know an Eleanor... or an Ellen? She seems quite concerned about you. She wants to tell you – pardon me – if you don't tell someone how bad it really is, she'll kick your ass from beyond. You have to trust someone again eventually.

And damn—it's a little messy, but Dean goes outside and he starts to communicate.

DEAN: No, we agreed to work the case. We didn't agree for you to be a dick the whole time.

Honestly? I didn't think Sam was being that big of a dick—he was jumping the gun on a few things, including burning the bones (and they end up burning the wrong ones and someone else dies).

SAM: What? DEAN: You're pissed, okay? And you've got a right.

I love this, because Dean's anger is rarely treated as justified no matter what the cause, but Dean's not going to deny someone the right to be mad at him when he's hurt them.

SAM: Yeah, damn straight. DEAN: But enough's enough. SAM: Says who? Look, I'll work this damn case, but you lied to me, and you killed my friend. SAM turns and walks away.

You think Dean's done? Ohhhh buddy he hasn't even gotten started.

DEAN walks after him. DEAN: No, I put down a monster who killed four people, and if you didn't know her, you'd have done the same thing.

Oh SNAP! GET HER ASS!!! SHE FUCKING KILLED PEOPLE SHE THOUGHT WERE BENEATH HER ON THE SOCIAL LADDER AND JUSTIFIED IT WITH HER GODDAMN MORTGAGE!!

SAM: I did know her, Dean.

Amy is special because Sam knew her, so she deserved special treatment... or did she?

DEAN: Yeah, which is why you couldn't do it. SAM stops. DEAN: Look, I get it. There are certain people in this world, no matter how dangerous they are, you just can't.

I wonder who Dean could be thinking of 🤔 Perhaps the angel he refused to believe would ever betray them until it was unwittingly revealed by Cas himself? The angel who broke Sam's brain who Dean still couldn't stop grieving and hoping would come back to himself after? Whose trench coat he's carrying around in his trunk? Then again... Dean did move to kill godstiel when it came right down to it. There is a connection between Dean's feelings about Amy and his feelings about Cas's betrayal though.

SAM: Don't pull that card! That's bull. Look, if I've learned one thing, it's that if something feels wrong, it probably is! DEAN: Usually, yeah. But killing Amy was not wrong. You couldn't do it, so I did. That's what family does – the dirty work. And I woulda told you, eventually, once I knew that this whole "waving a gun at Satan" thing was a one-time show. I think it's reasonable to want to know that you're off the friggin' high dive, Sam. You almost got us both killed, so you can be pissed all you want, but quit being a bitch.

God DAMN! That bit about family is going to come back and bite Dean in the ass in a HUGE way, but Dean's sorting through his feelings about what went down with Amy, and he's taking a stand: 1) Lying to Sam/going behind his back was wrong 2) Sam has every right to be mad at him, but if they're going to work, they need to work professionally and efficiently—Sam can't just bulldoze. 3) Killing Amy in of itself wasn't wrong. She murdered four people with no remorse, and the kind of favoritism Sam showed her was dangerous.

Dean's also snapping back on the trust aspect of this that's very much in play, because Amy herself isn't necessarily even what Sam's most mad about. He's mad that Dean didn't trust him and went behind his back. This is a little eye-brow-raising anyway because Sam very much went behind Dean's back first, but add that Sam left Dean alone and defenseless while he laid up with a broken leg while creatures from another dimension were hunting them, and refused to answer the phone with the context that he'd been actively hallucinating so badly that he almost murdered Dean and killed himself. It doesn't justify Dean lying to him, but it puts Dean's stress and his decision to lie in context, together with Dean's rejection of Sam showing Amy favoritism.

I said this is Dean communicating, and he really is communicating a lot of new information about his state of mind when you look at this from Sam's POV. Sam has been worried about Dean for weeks, and Dean's been refusing to talk about anything that might be bothering him. Now Dean's unleashed a lot of pent up thoughts and perspective, while still validating Sam's right to be angry that Dean lied. And it actually softens Sam's perspetive toward Dean, along with the case they're working about two sisters that softens Sam further, along with the obvious enjoyment he gets out of working with his brother. So when Dean goes out to his car at the end of the episode:

DEAN: Hey. SAM: Hey. DEAN: That's your stuff. SAM: Yeah. Yeah. I figured we'd take one car. DEAN: Works for me. You still want to break my face? SAM smiles. SAM: No. Uh, not at this moment.

Sam's actually satisfied enough with Dean communicating, even if it happens within an argument where they have a moral disagreement! In fact, Sam is able to see exactly where Dean is coming from morally and meet him in a middle ground where they at least agree that it isn't actually as black and white as Sam wanted it to be.

SAM: Look, you know what? Um... You were right. About Amy. If she was... just any monster, I'm not sure I could have let her walk away. I don't know. I mean, I'll never know. DEAN: So, what are you saying? SAM: What I'm saying is... I get why you did it. You were just trying to make sure no one else got hurt.

The thing that's still eating at Sam, is that Dean hasn't been fully honest with him yet about what exactly is going on with him. Sam has observed Dean's terrible mental state the last several weeks with increasing concern, and he's already focused in on this idea of "If it feels wrong, it probably is wrong".

SAM: But here's the thing. You can't just look me in the face and tell me you're fine. I mean, you're not sleeping, you drink for the record— DEAN: Oh, here we go. SAM: Look, whatever. Last one to preach, I know. But... Just be honest with me. How are those the actions of someone who knows they did the right thing?

If Dean's mental state is a result of guilt over what he did to Amy, that means he isn't being honest with Sam or himself about where he went wrong. If Dean only feels guilty about lying to Sam, that's fair enough—Sam gets his moral point of view as far as Amy. But if Dean actually thinks killing her was wrong, he needs to own up to it. The other possibility is that something else is eating at Dean that he hasn't fully communicated, and Sam wants to know what that is. They do dangerous work, and Sam needs to know what Dean's mental state actually is just as much as Dean needs Sam to be open about his own.

DEAN: You want me to be honest? SAM: Yeah. DEAN: I went with my gut. And that felt right. I didn't trust her, Sam. Of course, ever since Cas, I'm having a hard time trusting anybody. And as far as how I been acting... I don't know. Maybe it's 'cause I don't like lying to you. You know, it doesn't feel right. So, yeah, you got me there. I been climbing the walls.

Dean's further communication here does two things for Sam: 1) It's going to really relieve the part of Sam that's upset about the idea that Dean just didn't trust him, because Dean says lying to Sam felt so wrong that twisted him up in knots for weeks. That's far off from Sam's concerns of having an older brother who simply doesn't believe he can do the job or make the right decisions. Dean's guilt is felt so deeply because he sees Sam as a trusted partner deserving of his honesty, and believed it was wrong and unfair to lie to him. 2) Dean further communicates why he is struggling emotionally which leaves Sam feeling like he's in a better position to understand him and support him. It also communicates further trust and cultivates a mutually supportive relationship where Sam doesn't just feel like the crazy guy Dean is going to have a heart attack thinking about supporting, but feels like he can support Dean too.

And then right after that they're both joking around. Crazy what communication over your brother murdering your murderous ex who kills drug addicts and feeds their brains to her child can do.

#7.07 #season 7 #pk rewatches spn number ?#the flannel business

67 notes · View notes

castiwls · 9 months ago

Text

who's afraid of little old me? -s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.'

Requested;@nix-rose

Notes;so sorry this took so long exams are kicking my ass

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Laughter rang out through the air as children ran happily around the small playground. It wasn’t often you got much free time in the towns you visited so when the occasion arose you were quick to snap up the chance.

“I miss being this carefree.” You leaned forward leaning on your knees. Sam looked at you from the corner of his eyes an unreadable look on his face. “What do you mean?” He asked taking a sip from the cup in his hand.

“I mean…I miss being a kid you know. Your biggest issue being who gets which swing or what snack your gonna have before your dinner.” You shrugged. “Simple things.” As your gaze fell back onto the small playground Sam continued to watch you.

He sat for a moment, mulling over his thoughts. He sometimes forgot that you’d both been raised very differently. While his childhood had been anything but carefree you’d seemingly spent your formative years like most children and part of him envied you for that.

He envied how normal you were. The fact that you could look at a playground and be hit with a sense of nostalgia he could only imagine in his wildest dreams. Sam let out a quiet hum before sitting back on the bench.

You were both quiet for a moment before you turned your head to face him. You watched his expression for a moment, noticing the slight longing in his eyes. Sucking in a breath you spoke. “Your childhood wasn’t like this.” You sent him a bashful smile before placing your cup down beside you.

Sam shook his head wrapping an arm around you. “It’s alright.” He shrugged before turning his attention back to the playground.

It had surprised you at first when Sam and told you the details of his childhood. You’d honestly been slightly horrified when you’d first found out. The thought of growing up in that type of life had sent a feeling of nausea running through you.

It seemed a miracle that Sam had turned out the way he did.

Though you knew that was only partly true.

“You’ve never been to a park?” You asked suddenly. “Surely either Dean or Bobby would have taken you.”

Sam thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope. Not even once.” His gaze hardened for a moment. “I wasn’t the type of child who went to a park.” He said simply before standing from the bench. “We should probably head back.” He offered you his hand.

Standing from the bench you took his hand and followed him from the park. You both walked in peaceful silence, slowly taking in the small town.

As you walked Sam could feel his brain working overtime as he thought through his whole childhood. Or lack of childhood.

Situations like this made him feel cheated. Made him feel angry that he’d never been a normal child and that he’d spent his childhood dealing with things most children only saw in nightmares.

He’d always felt on the outside of society and things like this only cemented that in his mind. He couldn’t even talk to you about basic childhood experiences because he’d never had them and that thought left anger bubbling in his stomach.

“Sam.” Your voice broke through his thoughts. Pausing in the street you turned to fully face him. “I can feel you getting tense.” You frowned slightly concerned at the look in his eyes. “I know what you're thinking and you need to stop alright? I know it sucks and I'm sorry if I could change your childhood I would.”

You squeezed his hand. “You're not the outsider you make yourself out to be.” You smiled up at him. He watched you for a moment, letting your words settle in his mind. He let out a sigh running his free hand through his hair.

“I know. I know.” Sam frowned before shaking his head. He knew deep down you were right, that the small voice in his head wasn’t his voice of reason. You were.

Taking a breath he smiled pressing a kiss to your head. “Thank you.”

164 notes · View notes

samofmine · 10 months ago

Text

okay so. sam with a praise kink & a humilliation kink.

Imagine Dean breaking into Sam's dorm once, one week after he left for college, cause he's drunk and sad and hurt and he misses Sammy. It scares Sam shitless and he almost punches him but Dean manages to hold him down, "easy tiger", and then they're wrestling, more trying to touch every piece of the other's skin than actually trying to hurt each other, and it takes 0 time for Sam to get painfully hard in his pajama pants and of fucking course Dean notices.

"Still the same horny mess, huh, Sammy?"

And Sam just lets out the most pathetic whine as Dean reaches for his cock, hand moving up and down lightly and slowly and Sam missed this so much he could cry.

Dean has him begging for it in no time "use your words, babyboy" and Sam's brain can barely come up with anything but please please please.

Dean turns him over and climbs on top of him, taking both their clothes off as fast as he can and Sam just waits.

Dean starts to finger him right there on the floor and Sam can't wait, he needs Dean inside, his whole body feels hot and he's tingling and the friction of the carpet against his cock is just so good, so right, so he begs again please please please and Dean tells him to shut up, shoving his cock inside Sam hard and all at once and it punches the air off Sam's lungs.

"Quiet Sammy," Dean leans in to whisper to him, "You don't want your college friends to know you're a slut."

And oh my god Dean is fucking him so slow and so hard, Sam can't take it, he starts to fuck himself on Dean's cock in a pathetic rhytm that is not nearly enough.

Dean even stops for a moment, lets him do all the work, and then he grabs both Sam's arms and starts to fuck him properly, using Sam like he's a fleshlight, and oh god the memory of Dean fucking that flashlight in the bathroom when he thought Sam was asleep, Sam moans loudly, his cock leaking on the carpet.

"You should see you right now. College boy turns out to be nothing but a pathetic slut. What's the use of studying so hard if you're just gonna be fucked dumb by your brother's cock, huh?"

Sam is so close, his entire body shakes, and Dean is still holding his arms and he can't touch himself and it's all too much and he starts crying, moaning Dean's name and hoping he'll get the message.

And oh, he does, he pulls Sam in until his back is flushed against his chest and starts fucking him slowly, kissing his neck, and Sam needs more, he starts moving, and fuck, Dean's hand finds his cock.

"So good, Sammy" Dean groans and Sam can tell he's close, too, "Perfect for me, doing so good."

And Sam only nods, fucking back on Dean's cock and thrusting on Dean's hand, and he needs it so bad-

"Go ahead, Sammy, let go for me. Let me see how perfect you look when you cum on my cock." Dean speeds up his hand and Sam cums with a loud cry, body falling forward, but Dean catches him and turns him on his back, gritted teeth as he throws Sam's legs over his shoulders and enters him again, fucking Sam even harder, groaning "fuck fuck fuck" and spilling inside him.

Sam almost wants to beg for him to stay like that, inside him, not moving until the sun comes up, until Sam can feel him getting hard again, until he can fuck Sam and spill inside him again and again until he feels full.

But Dean just gets up, gets dressed and leaves.

Sam doesn't get up from the floor and it doesn't take long until he's hard again so he starts jerking off, high on the feeling of his brother's cum leaking from his hole.

#wincest #stanford era #idk where this came from #i should be asleep #wincest smut #samdean #how does this have 50 notes we are all deranged

212 notes · View notes

tothewheel · 1 year ago

Text

fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

#fic rec #masterlist #ezra posts

224 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 6 months ago

Text

Not So Wise

Requested: Yes, Hi could you do a fic where the winchesters sister has her wisdom teeth removed and is really nervous about it, then gets super loopy afterwards and Dean has a lot of fun getting some juicy gossip after. But he may get a bit more information than what he wanted…

Sitting in the dentist’s waiting room, you tried to keep your nerves in check, but it wasn’t easy. The idea of getting your wisdom teeth removed had been gnawing at you for weeks, and now that the day was finally here, the anxiety had ramped up to a whole new level. You glanced over at Dean, who was lounging casually in the chair beside you, flipping through a magazine like this was the most boring thing in the world. Meanwhile, Sam sat on your other side, ever the reassuring presence, offering you a calm, supportive smile.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Sam said, his voice soothing as always. “It’s a quick procedure. You’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Yeah, and then we’ll get you all the ice cream you want,” Dean added, flashing you that trademark smirk of his. “But first, you gotta get through this. Don’t worry, though—I’ve got your back.”

You tried to take comfort in their words, but the butterflies in your stomach weren’t going anywhere. “What if something goes wrong? What if I say something weird afterward?” you asked, looking between your brothers with wide, anxious eyes.

Dean chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Trust me, you’re gonna say something weird. That’s the best part.”

Before you could respond, the nurse called your name, and it was time. Your heart raced as you stood up, but Dean and Sam were right there with you, walking you to the door that led back to the surgery room. They both gave you encouraging smiles, and you took a deep breath, trying to focus on their support as you walked through the door.

The next thing you knew, you were waking up in a groggy haze, the world spinning slightly as you tried to get your bearings. You blinked, squinting against the bright lights, and realized you were lying in a reclined chair, a blanket draped over you. Your mouth felt numb and swollen, and you could vaguely taste blood, but it didn’t hurt—at least, not yet.

“Oh, look who’s awake!” Dean’s voice broke through the fog, and you turned your head to see him grinning down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Sam was there too, looking more relieved than anything, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as well.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Sam said softly. “How’re you feeling?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a garbled mumble. Your tongue felt like it was three times its normal size, and you weren’t entirely sure how to make your mouth work properly. Dean laughed at the sound you made, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Aw, don’t worry, you’re still cute,” Dean teased, reaching out to gently pat your cheek. “So, anything you wanna share with us while you’re all loopy?”

Your brain was still catching up with the fact that you were no longer in the dentist’s chair, and everything felt a bit surreal. But Dean’s question registered, and you tried to think of something to say, something funny or lighthearted, but what came out surprised even you.

“I… I love you guys,” you slurred, your voice thick and barely coherent. “You’re the best brothers in the whole wide world.”

Dean’s grin softened a little, turning into something more genuine. “Well, we love you too, sis. But we already knew that. Come on, you gotta give me something juicier than that.”

You blinked at him, your thoughts swimming in a sea of anesthesia-induced fog. For some reason, you felt like talking—a lot. And not just about anything, but about everything. It was as if all the thoughts you’d kept tucked away, all the things you never dared to say out loud, were suddenly rushing to the surface, desperate to be heard.

“You know… I think Cas is really hot,” you blurted out, your eyes widening as the words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Sam stifled a laugh. “Oh really?” Dean drawled, leaning in a little closer. “Tell me more about that.”

“Yeah…” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side as you tried to gather your thoughts. “But like, not just ‘cause he’s an angel. He’s just… got that whole broody, mysterious thing going on, you know?”

Dean was grinning like a Cheshire cat now, clearly loving every second of this. “Broody, huh? You got a thing for the strong, silent types?”

You nodded, completely oblivious to how much you were revealing. “And his eyes… they’re so blue. Like, really blue. And sometimes, when he looks at me, I just… I don’t know, I get all flustered.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, who was trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. “Flustered, huh? That’s cute,” Dean said, unable to resist teasing you a little more. “So, what do you think about ol’ Sammy here?”

You turned your head to look at Sam, your gaze unfocused but sincere. “Sam’s… he’s like a giant teddy bear,” you said, your voice full of affection. “So smart and always looking out for me. But sometimes, I think he worries too much. Like, dude, chill. We’re gonna be okay, you know?”

Sam chuckled, clearly touched by your words despite the loopy delivery. “I’ll try to chill more, I promise,” he said gently.

Dean, however, wasn’t done yet. “So, you’re crushing on Cas, huh? Anything else you wanna confess while you’re in the mood?”

You stared at him, your brows furrowing as you tried to process the question. And then, without thinking, you said, “I had a crush on you once.”

The room went silent. Dean’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine shock. Sam’s eyes widened, and he looked between you and Dean as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to play it off, but there was an edge to his voice now. “You, uh… you had a crush on me?”

You nodded, completely oblivious to the sudden tension in the room. “Yeah… when we were kids. But then I realized you were, you know, my brother… so that was weird.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, trying to laugh it off. “Well, that’s… uh, that’s good. Definitely weird.”

Sam looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or feel awkward, so he settled for giving you a sympathetic smile. “That’s… understandable. We’ve all been through a lot together.”

You just nodded, your eyes starting to droop as the combination of the anesthesia and the emotional toll of the day began to take its toll on you. “I’m really tired now,” you mumbled, your voice growing softer.

Dean let out a relieved chuckle, gently patting your arm. “Yeah, I bet you are. Let’s get you home, okay?”

With Sam’s help, Dean carefully lifted you out of the chair, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to steady you. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you murmured something unintelligible.

As they led you out of the office and into the cool evening air, Dean couldn’t help but glance down at you, a complicated mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He’d come here today expecting to have a little fun at your expense, to get some funny stories out of your post-surgery haze. But he hadn’t expected to hear something like that. It was strange, unsettling even, but he couldn’t deny that it also gave him a new perspective on how much you looked up to him, even if it had been in a way he never imagined.

“Let’s get you home and get some rest,” Dean said softly, his voice more tender than before. He looked over at Sam, who met his gaze with a knowing smile. They both knew this was something they’d laugh about later, but for now, the priority was taking care of you.

As they drove home, with you dozing off in the backseat, Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of protectiveness for you. You were his little sister, and no matter what strange confessions you made while under the influence of anesthesia, he would always be there to look out for you, to tease you, and to be the brother you needed.

Because that’s what family did.

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

80 notes · View notes

lightdancingwords · 1 month ago

Text

Second Chances - Part Four of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock.

Word Count: 3,070

Tags/Warnings: So much fluff, mentions police work, toddlers/children and parenting, a touch of profanity

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader! Surprise! A new chapter so soon! I just had to get it out!

Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Four: Friendly Fire

Beau wrote and rewrote the text message a dozen times, each one sounding more pathetic than the last. It was supposed to be simple, easy. Just a sweet message to ask Y/N out. Instead, it was a jumble of trying to sound casual and collected, but more like desperate and needy.

God. He should’ve just asked her out when he saw her at the farmer’s market, but noooo…. He had to just kiss her and wish her well. Just a smooch and see you later. A wham bam thank you ma’am.

Beau groaned when that thought crossed his mind. He wasn’t that crude, that… Hell, he couldn’t even describe it. He just knew he hadn’t been the type to take a woman to bed and never call her again. Even before Carla, he was the serious type, not the player.

With Y/N though, it were as though all sense left his brain. He couldn’t function around her. The farmer’s market made him clutch, made him think of starting over in a big way. Little Eliza, God, that kid was worming her way into his heart. In the privacy of his mind, he knew he wouldn’t mind being a father to her.

Too soon. Far too soon… right? He almost called up his mama just to see what she’d say. Maybe knock some sense into him, get him to slow down. But Christ,… the heart wanted what the heart wanted.

“You groan one more time I’m going to do a Gibbs to you,” Doris said, his whirlwind of a secretary, as she walked into his office.

Startled, he looked up. “A what?”

Doris rolled her eyes. “Mark Harmon had been acting as Leroy Gibbs for over a decade and you never heard of him?”

Baffled, Beau could only stare. “Who?”

Doris rubbed her forehead. “You truly don’t watch television, do you, Beau?”

“No, I don’t,” he said with a wry chuckle.

Doris shook her head and came up behind him to perform the Gibbs slap—lightly—on the back of Beau’s head. “That was a Gibbs,” she said fondly.

“You wanted to smack me because I groaned?” Beau regarded Doris dubiously. “Doris, I may like your lasagna but that don’t mean you can hit me anytime ya like.”

Doris chuckled and flashed a smile at him. “A shame. You might like a spank or two.”

“Doris!” Beau knew she took more liberties than most of those in the sheriff’s department, and he allowed it simply because she had the right instincts. She knew and saw things that others might miss. Occasionally though, she crossed into a boundary that felt a little too intimate for comfort.

“Oh all right,” she said, apologetic. She tilted her head at him. “Still… what has you all riled up?”

“Not a what, a who,” he admitted.

“Ohhh…” Doris looked intrigued. She honestly thought he’d live as a monk after his divorce. She grabbed a seat and sat down, leaning forward with interest. “What’s her name?”

Beau told her the whole tidbit—how he met Y/N at the store, felt utterly charmed by her daughter, how the first date went, the meeting at the farmer’s market, and how incapable he seemed at asking her out again. Doris heard him out, never once making commentary. When he finished, she sat back and regarded him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“Texting,” Doris said at last, “lacks class, Beau. You should know better.”

He blinked at her. “Well…” He stopped, glanced at his phone. He thought back to how his mama regaled him with stories of how his father had asked her out. One of them stirred in his mind.

“Doris… you know everythin’ about everybody in this town,” he said slowly. “Do you know where Y/N works?”

“I might. Why? What are you thinking?”

Beau tapped his finger on the desk. “I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna send some flowers. Sweet ones. With a note askin’ her out.”

Doris smiled, pleased. “I’ll track down her employment,” she said. “That’s a much better idea.”

He debated roses. Red ones, maybe, for love, but decided against it. He decided Y/N deserved better than the standard, stereotypical roses. He opted for white wildflowers that were softened by sprigs of lavender. When Doris found out, he worried she’d give him another Gibbs slap. Instead she merely nodded, pleased.

Still, he was a nervous wreck until Y/N called him shy of him closing for the day. When he saw her name on the call display, he nearly dropped his phone.

“Beau Arlen speaking,” he said, answering the phone.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, her voice shy and touched with wonder. “It’s me.”

Beau debated pulling a sad joke and wisely kept it to himself. “Good to hear from ya, darlin’,” he said, and meant it.

“I got your flowers,” she said, and he could hear the smile, picture the soft expression on her face. “And the card.”

Beau felt his heart clench. He knew she all but made it clear that she was interested in another date. Even so, feelings could change. He waited with bated breath as she continued.

“They’re beautiful,” Y/N went on. “And yes. My answer’s yes.”

He felt the smile, slow and warm, spread on his face. “Darlin’, you just made my day. My night. My week.”

She chuckled, her voice dropping to a soft level. It did things to his groin, pulled at his heartstrings. He wanted to see her spread out beneath him as he touched her. Oh God, he really was done for.

“What day are you thinking?” she asked.

“How about Saturday afternoon? I was thinkin’ a picnic at the park,” he said. He was a master at picnics.

“Oh Beau…” The way she breathed his name almost undid him. “That sounds lovely.”

Beau cleared his throat, fought to keep his composure. “Then I’ll see you Saturday,” he said.

“Saturday,” she agreed.

When Saturday came, he was a knot of anxiety. He wanted the date to go well, so very well. Especially considering what happened during their first date. Or to him. His knuckles were healing, but it looked as though he’ll have scars. He’ll wear them proudly if it meant he got to be with Y/N.

He packed a basket, brought several blankets, and a cooler with sparkling strawberry. He texted Y/N asking what allergies she had, if any, so he didn’t unintentionally trigger an allergy attack.

Then the time came. He was such a mess. His nerves prickled with seeing her again, kissing her. He drove to her home, his thumbs tapping the steering wheel, a pattern to ease his nerves.

When he knocked on the door, he smiled when she opened it. Then the look on her face made his smile drop and concern wrinkle his brow.

“Hey darlin’,” he greeted. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N heaved a sigh. “My babysitter canceled,” she said. “I’m sorry, Beau. We’ll need to reschedule.”

He frowned, baffled. “Why? Bring her with. I won’t mind.”

Y/N gave a start. “Are… are you sure?” She seemed so surprised that he wanted to bring a toddler to a date. Eliza was prone to wild energies that would undoubtedly make any intimate moments impossible. That Beau not only decided not to cancel or reschedule, he wanted to bring the toddler with them.

“Yeah,” he said firmly. “Bring her with. I love the kid. You might have to bring somethin’ she can eat, but I ain’t gonna mind. She’s a darlin’.”

Y/N stared at him, thoroughly stunned. “O-okay. Give me a moment then.”

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the sprawling park, where a checkered blanket was spread out under the shade of an ancient oak tree. A wicker basket brimming with sandwiches, fruit, and cookies sat in the center, surrounded by scattered toys and a half-empty juice box. Eliza was giggling uncontrollably as Beau pretended to lose a tug-of-war match against her tiny but determined strength. His exaggerated groans of defeat sent her into peals of laughter.

“You’re too strong for me, Eliza!” Beau said dramatically, falling back onto the blanket with a hand over his heart. “I surrender!”

Eliza crawled over to him and tapped his forehead. “Bo-Bo funny,” she declared triumphantly.

Y/N watched the scene from her spot on the blanket, her lips curving into a soft smile. The way Beau interacted with her daughter tugged at something deep inside her—something warm and unsettling all at once. He wasn’t just playing; he was present, fully engaged in a way that made her chest ache. Eliza adored him, and it was impossible not to see why.

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” Y/N teased as Beau sat up, brushing grass off his shirt.

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling as he glanced at her. “What can I say? She’s irresistible.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. She shifted slightly, turning her attention to peeling an orange for Eliza, but her mind was spinning. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Too soon for him to be this good with her daughter, too soon for her heart to be so drawn to him.

Beau leaned back on his hands, watching Eliza toddle off to chase a butterfly. “She’s a good kid, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’ve done a hell of a job with her.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She wasn’t used to compliments like that, especially ones that felt so genuine. “Thanks,” she murmured, not trusting herself to say more.

Beau shifted closer, his knee brushing hers as he reached for the thermos of lemonade. The casual touch sent a jolt through her, and she forced herself to stay still, to not pull away. This wasn’t like her. She was always cautious, always guarded. But Beau… he had a way of making her feel safe in a way that terrified her.

Eliza’s laughter had quieted, and her energy, boundless only moments ago, was beginning to wane. She rubbed her eyes with small fists and toddled toward Y/N, then changed course mid-step and headed straight for Beau.

Beau noticed her wobbling steps and opened his arms just as her little legs gave out. “Whoa there, wolf-child,” he said, catching her easily. “Tuckered yourself out, huh?”

Eliza mumbled something incoherent, her cheek pressing against his chest as her small hands clutched at his shirt. Beau adjusted his hold, cradling her securely against him. Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin, and her soft, even breaths began to slow.

Y/N watched from a few feet away, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Eliza wasn’t one to fall asleep in the arms of just anyone. She needed her familiar comforts—her blanket, her mom, the quiet hum of a lullaby. But now, she lay completely still in Beau’s arms, her little body curled against his warmth, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

Beau looked over at Y/N, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “She’s out,” he whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N nodded, her voice equally quiet. “That’s… rare,” she admitted, watching them with an expression that wavered between awe and disbelief.

Beau shifted slightly, one hand supporting Eliza’s back while the other smoothed over her tiny curls. “Guess she feels safe,” he murmured, his tone tinged with reverence, as though he understood just how precious the moment was.

Y/N swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Seeing him like this, so tender and natural with her daughter, was almost too much. She looked away briefly, busying herself with packing up the picnic blanket, but her eyes kept drifting back to them.

Eliza stirred faintly in Beau’s arms, a soft sigh escaping her lips before she settled back into slumber. “All right, darlin’,” Beau said softly, standing slowly to avoid waking her. “Let’s get this little one into the car seat.”

He walked with careful, measured steps toward Y/N’s car seat, as though carrying something impossibly delicate. Y/N followed, her heart thudding in her chest as she watched the way he held Eliza, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

When they reached the car seat, Y/N stood back, giving Beau space. He crouched low, still cradling Eliza as he examined the car seat with a practiced eye. “You mind if I?” he asked, glancing at Y/N.

“Go ahead,” she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

Beau gently lowered Eliza into the car seat, his movements deliberate and smooth. She stirred only slightly as he buckled her in, her little head tilting to one side. He grabbed the soft blanket, tucking it snugly around her. “There we go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N sat on the blanket, her arms crossed loosely. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, the way he checked and re-checked the straps to ensure Eliza was secure, the way he adjusted the blanket one last time. It was such a simple act, but it carried so much weight.

Beau straightened and turned to her, his hands on his hips, a faint smile playing on his lips. “All set. She’s out like a light.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “You didn’t have to—”

“Didn’t have to,” Beau interrupted, his gaze steady and sincere. “But I wanted to. She’s a good kid, Y/N. And she’s lucky to have you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, and she looked away, suddenly self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re too good at this,” she said lightly, though her voice wavered.

Beau chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Had my practice with Em. But I’ll admit, it feels different with her.”

“Different how?” Y/N asked, her curiosity overcoming her caution.

Beau hesitated, his smile softening as he looked at her. “Different like… I don’t know. Feels like she could be mine. Like this is how it’s supposed to be.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N’s breath hitched, and she looked down, her fingers tightening on the edge of the blanket. It was too much, too soon, and yet… it didn’t feel wrong.

“Beau…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping closer.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, shaking her head slightly. “Thank you,” she said instead, her voice soft but steady. “For today. For… everything.”

Beau nodded, his green eyes holding hers. “Anytime, darlin’. You just say the word.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her heart thudding in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings he stirred in her, but one thing was certain—Beau was different. And that terrified her in the best way possible.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Y/N looked away, focusing on the way the sunlight danced through the leaves. She couldn’t do this. Not yet. It was too much, too soon.

The sun dipped lower in the sky. Beau turned his attention fully to Y/N. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“I’m just… thinking,” she replied, avoiding his gaze.

He reached out, his fingers brushing hers, and when she finally looked up, his green eyes were steady, searching hers. “About what?”

“About how easy you make this look,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And how that scares me.”

Beau leaned in, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek. “It’s okay to be scared, darlin’,” he murmured. “I’m scared too. But this? Us? It feels right.”

Y/N’s resolve crumbled in the face of his quiet honesty. Before she could overthink it, she closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that started tentative but quickly deepened. Beau’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their bubble of warmth and longing.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, Y/N let out a shaky breath. “You’re impossible, Beau.”

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “And you’re irresistible. Guess we’re even.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound carrying a hint of surrender. Maybe, just maybe, this was worth the risk. “I wish we could stay longer,” she whispered to him. “But Eliza can’t nap long and… I have to be a mom.”

“You’re a mom, darlin’,” he murmured. “That ain’t gonna change.” He searched her face, took her in, brushed his thumb across her cheek. “If anything, it’s one hell of a bonus.”

Y/N smiled shakily. “You’re a rare man, Beauregard.”

“You’re one hell of a woman, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath feathering over her lips as he drew closer again. “You and your kid. God. Stole my heart when I wasn’t lookin’.”

Her breath hitched. “Beau…”

“I know, darlin’,” he said quietly. His green eyes were stunning, arresting. She couldn’t look away. “It’s damned fast, but I’m finding it hard to resist. Because it’s you.”

“We need to slow down, Beau,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Please.”

Beau swallowed hard. He knew she was right. He had to slow down. God, it was hard. He wanted her; not just for sex, but for just being with her. “We will, darlin’. May I kiss you one last time?”

She smiled. “Please, God yes.”

He smiled, and met her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. He brought his hand up to cup her face as he deepened it. He felt her hand come up on his shoulder, curl behind his neck. He tasted her, savored her sweetness. When they broke, he knew he had to stop and pull away before he took her then and there.

“I should take you home,” he murmured. “Let you get the little wolf-child ready for bed, whatever it is ya need to do.”

“Yeah….” She pulled back with a warm smile. “Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“This was a lovely date,” she said, her eyes sparkling in the sunset light. “I’d absolutely love to go out with you again.”

“Is that a hint I should ask ya now?” he said with a grin.

“Absolutely.”

“Darlin’… I’d like to take you out Monday night. Will you come out with me?”

She did this thing with a bite to her lower lip and oh God, he resisted the urge to kiss her again. “I would love to.”

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk

43 notes · View notes

farenmaddox · 2 months ago

Text

it's Cas!posting hours again

I’m doing a season 4 rewatch of Supernatural because I need to watch this angel fall again. And god, it’s so good. The Destiel of it all is literally from minute one and never lets up, for one thing. Like, the insane crazy eye contact and whispered conversations alone in the dark and the way Castiel constantly shows up in the aftermath of really terrible moments of Dean’s life, where the only role available to him is to listen to Dean spill emotions everywhere, and do his little angel best to provide some sort of comfort? Are you fucking kidding me?

I just finished watching s4e7 “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester” and need to talk about it for a minute. Thee Castiel just radiating BDE. Uriel’s the specialist, but Cas is the one who gets to decide whether Uriel goes to work and gets to reprimand and threaten him. I am. Okay.

Anyway, I’m just considering it all from Cas’s perspective. Like, what does he actually know about Dean Winchester? So little. They have spent max two hours in each other’s company at this point. He knows that Dean was feisty enough to stab him and yell at him, and he obviously thinks it’s kinda cute because he just lets him do it. Like a puppy that hasn’t learned not to bite yet. What else does he know? He knows Dean got very pissed about the rising of the witnesses, and the deaths of his fellow hunters. Understandable, maybe. Castiel is pissed about the loss of his own fellow soldiers. Makes sense.

Then there was s4e3, “In the Beginning,” and now Castiel knows that Dean loves his family and it hurt him to see what happened to his mother and why everything happened with Sam the way it did. And Castiel felt it. He felt that pain from Dean, and it wasn’t his place to stop any of this, he was just there to drive the car and make the cryptic threats. But he reached out and touched his shoulder, because Dean was in pain and Castiel couldn’t look at it without wanting to do something. That little touch is where the crack formed. 100%

Now it’s Halloween, and they need to destroy a whole town. Castiel last saw Dean about a month ago, and he’s been busy trying to stop the apocalypse. It’s difficult and his brothers are dying and he’s stressed. Now he’s here, and he has to destroy a town. And Castiel doesn’t want to, but it’s not up to him, it’s up to Dean. And Castiel doesn’t know this, because he can’t remember, but he’s been here before. He’s felt this doubt before, and they’ve drilled into his brain and pulled it out of him. He’s had all previous instances of hesitation stolen from him. So now, here, his doubts are new and frightening. And Dean Winchester gets to decide. This man whose significance he doesn’t fully know or understand. He knows he was commanded to pull him out of hell, he knows Dean feels loyalty to hunters and family, but he doesn’t know what Dean will do when it’s his life, his brother’s life, against the lives of random people he doesn’t know and would never see again anyway. Castiel will do whatever Dean says, but he knows he might be disappointed. That he might have to kill 1,214 people depending on who Dean really is.

Then Dean proves himself to be the man that Castiel was secretly hoping he was. He won’t let them destroy the town and he will put his own life on the line for it. Dean loves humanity, the way that Castiel is not allowed to remember that he does, too. Dean does what Castiel was longing to do and praying that Dean would do for him, and he makes the space where Castiel can profess those feelings safely.

Yeah, Cas falls. Of course he does. This episode makes me truly believe that he was going to anyway and Dean was just the catalyst for it this time. He’s fallen before, but this time, he gets to remember. Because Dean is the immovable object that meets the unstoppable force, because Dean is a fixed point in the universe. This time, when Cas falls in love with humanity, they can’t take it away from him because his love literally has plot armor.

#spn #supernatural #castiel #destiel #dean winchester #spn season 4 #spn 04x07 #I love this gay angel so much #this man makes me feel shrimp emotions #I will never shut the fuck up about Castiel and you can't make me #spn meta

34 notes · View notes

happilyfeatherafter · 11 months ago

Text

Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Good friday y'all. Welcome back to a new fortnight of fics that I’ve read and loved recently. I took my first holiday of the year and IMMEDIATELY caught a cold that knocked me out for the week but at least it meant I got reading done. Save me, destiel, save me.

If you want to find more you can see my previous rec lists here!

29 March 2024

virga(e) by @shineforthee (art by @neversleepuntilfive) has gone straight to the top of the favourite fics ever pile, oh my god you guys, please read it immediately and admire the art that inspired it as part of @deancasreversebang. This fic is a thing of beauty from start to finish. In one version of the story of Dean and Cas, we find Castiel perpetually waiting in the desert, when a 26 year old Dean stumbles upon him drawn to the location mid-hunt. They must learn to trust each other, to figure out what's causing the push and pull that bonds them. The poetry of this fic, run through with this yearning devastating emotion on their journey together, coupled with the incredibly evocatively descriptions and research into the setting, come together to make the most gorgeous picture, the desert a place that seems desolate but is teeming with life. Much like the slowburn romance that flourishes between them. It also links back to post-canon in a way that is seeded so carefully and cleverly, and made my heart explode. It's funny, romantic, devastating, emotional, moving....I can't do justice to this fic with such a short snapshot, please read it for yourselves and come yell at me about it. It's so beautiful. shineforthee also has a great 9x06 fanfic gap one shot and an ongoing wip now too and I can't wait to read that! (Somehow need any more convincing? Check out @bloodydeanwinchester's Virga(e) liveblog).

It's all very complex by artichokeflower okay that was all very serious, so let's turn to a short and sweet smut fic that had me giggling gleefully throughout. 'After walking in on Dean's private time, Cas decides to do a little research and experimentation of his own and gets magically trapped in a book about sexual fantasies. And if that means Dean has to go in after him, well what are buddies for, right?' The thing that is just GOLDEN about this fic aside from the hot smut is the dry sense of humour, borderline French Mistake parody level porn and dialogue between Dean and especially Cas which just gets them so well...the cowboy scenes in particular. Glorious: “I’m sorry, Dean. That’s the end of the erotic violence. Are you hurt?” “Is there going to be any sex in your sexy fantasies?” Dean wheezed. “Not that the whole shoot out wasn’t fun. I just wasn’t expecting as much plot is all.” He coughed. That had probably sounded too eager.

Just Being and Just Having by Englandwouldfall I have recced before but is now complete!! This the post-canon fic series delves so incredibly beautifully into Dean and Cas’ history of miscommunication and gives them the chance to truly talk things out, finding themselves falling more deeply in love as they do so and understand their own mistakes but also what makes them work so well together when they’re no longer under Chuck’s thumb. Each chapter feels like therapy and a brain and heart massage! It sticks the landing so well and I just love these boys so much.

Something Happening Somewhen by allthismusic (@folkbloodbaths, art by @eggchef) aaaahhh time travel young Dean brought to the future to meet older Dean and Cas fic trope my beloved. A @deancaspinefest fic, Allthismusic is a fan of the trope too and this fic is a gorgeous tribute to it and the fics that came before. Cas saves 24yo Dean from an accident and brings him to the future when he witnesses what his life will be. Will Cas have to remove his memories to stop a paradox? Sweet and heartfelt, a joy to read.

Books, Pies, and Roommates by @seidenapfel (art by @kitshay) is a @deancaspinefest two-person love hexagon, with some excellently farcical misdirection. Cas moves in to the spare room of Dean's house, but he doesn't meet him, he meets Sam, as Dean is busy working. Cas is professor but helps his cousin out as a barista and his favourite customer is Deano. Dean's intrigued by the barista but he's not his online penpal and best friend Angel. Lines blur, connections are made, and hearts are gonna get broken...or are they?

Tag list under the cut, let me know if you'd like to be added! Please reblog <3

@dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you

#happilyfeatherafter ficrec friday #ficrec #destiel #destiel fic #deancas #destiel fanfic

100 notes · View notes

makeitmingi · 2 years ago

Text

Cause Baby You’re My Muse [Chapter 4]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.2K

‘Producer Indigo! Where are you? Are you playing hooky? If so, why was I not invited? - Wooyoung’

You yawned as you looked over at the message from Wooyoung. You have been at KQ for about two weeks already and the boys have all become friends with you. But you had a closer friendship with Hongjoong and Wooyoung compared to the rest.

‘Was working the whole night... Had a meeting end at 11 then have just been working non stop. Didn’t want to lose track of what was discussed for the track. - Indigo’

‘Wait, you’ve been working since 11?! Do you know it’s 10 am now?! - Wooyoung’

‘It is...? Oh, I didn’t even notice. - Indigo’

After meetings, you liked to work immediately, to not lose that creative high. Last night was your first meeting with the JYP producers ater signing the contract with them to produce one of their artist’s songs.

‘Wooyoung just yelled, saying that he can’t believe you have been working for close to 12 hours. You should go to sleep.- Hongjoong’

Yes, you did want to sleep. But first, you needed some food in your system. You went to the kitchen to make yourself some toast because that was what you were craving, toast with jam and butter. And an iced latte since caffeine didn’t have an effect on you. You leaned against the counter to eat your toast, your brain just blank.

‘Yes, captain. Eating then straight to bed after. - Indigo.’

You sent a picture of your half eaten toast to Hongjoong. He replied with a thumbs up sticker. It was weird, you’ve never shared so much of your life with others before but it was strangely fun to do so with them.

‘Could you come do your drum beat in the studio tomorrow? I did a bit of alteration and cleaning, all we need to do is add your beat. - Indigo’

‘Ah, you should honestly be focusing on refueling and resting for now instead of tomorrow’s work. But I have a schedule tomorrow. I’ll pop by around 4? - Hongjoong’

‘Sounds good. See you. And also, I have to plan for tomorrow because you could be busy with schedules. - Indigo’

After doing the dishes, you went to save your work in your studio and turn off your system. Then you washed up and dived straight into bed.

RINGGGG

“Hello...?” You drowned out, close to falling asleep.

“Oh, good. You’re resting. Indigo, you can’t keep pulling all nighters like that, it is not good for your health. I know work is important but if get sick, you won’t be able to work for even longer periods of time. Hongjoong hyung always tells us to take care of our bodies.” Wooyoung rambled.

“Right...” You were having a hard time paying attention to him, sleep threatening to consume you the moment your head had touched the pillow. But you were grateful he was concerned for you.

“Wooyoung ah, I think she’s falling asleep already and can’t focus on your nagging.” You heard San in the background.

“I’ll take him away now, Indigo. Sleep well~” You now heard San’s voice clearly while Wooyoung was yelling.

“Thanks, San... I’ll talk to you later, Wooyoung...” You trailed off as the call cut and you closed your eyes, finally letting sleep take over you. You didn’t know how long you slept for but the sun had set by the time you woke up.

‘Hey! It has been a while since we’ve met up. The boys and I are going for drinks tonight, would you like to come? We can all catch up. - Dean’

The invite came in while you were making dinner, Considering how you haven’t met them for a while, you agreed.

‘There might be press, just be careful. But it’s all familiar faces tonight. - Dean’

He assured you. Despite being older than you, you knew Dean from way back, when you first starting out. Meeting and working with Korean R&B and Hip hop artists was a lot more common than you would expect. And you clicked with Dean immediately, his appreciation for privacy helped him protect your identity from the press.

‘Thanks for the heads up. They probably heard that you’ve emerged from hiding or something. - Indigo’

Keeping it simple, you wore a black cocktail dress with a leather jacket over your shoulders. To accompany that, you wore some boots. You called a cab and left the house to go to the club.

“Name?” The bouncer asked when you arrived.

“Indigo.” You replied. He shot you a skeptical look, taking in your mask figure. But he nodded and stepped aside for you the enter.

“VIP is upstairs.” He told you. You gave him a thumbs up and turned to the staircase, away from the other patrons on the first level. Just like Dean said, it was all familiar faces.

“There she is. Indigo.” Dean smiled, drinking in hand, and came over to give you a big hug.

“It has been a while, Hyuk. How are you?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around him with a laugh.

“I’m good, it’s been great having a break from everything. What about you? I heard you’re working with KQ now?” He held your shoulders after pulling away. You nodded your head with a sheepish smile.

“Just freelancing for them.” You said as you both sat down.

“Well, it’s always good to expand your circle and earn experience.” He smiled, handing you a drink with a straw. You clinked glasses with him and took a sip. After that, you proceeded to greet your other friends that were there, having a quick catch up with all of them.

“How has it been working with idols?”

“Not that bad. I can’t say that all idols are like that but this group is full of hardworking people. They’re always in the studio working and they have good input.” You shrugged.

“Edenary has some good people. And I hear the leader of that group is quite the budding producer.” Dean said.

“Yeah, Hongjoong. He is talented, has producing potential.” You nodded your head. Dean smiled, he was glad you were getting to know more people and you seemed to really like Ateez from the way you were talking about them.

“I’m proud of you. All your hardwork is getting paid off.” He patted your head and you blushed.

“I’m going out back for a smoke.” Dean stood up, hands tucked into his pockets. You followed him even though you don’t smoke.

RINGGGGG

“Excuse me. Let me take this.” You stepped aside to answer the phone. Dean nodded his head, busy typing on his phone as he smoked. When you took your phone out of your pocket, you were not expecting to see a call from Mingi, usually only Hongjoong and Wooyoung would contact you outside of working hours and at such an hour.

“Want to come for movie night?”

“With you?” You choked, not expecting that. Dean shot you a weird look but you waved him off.

“Yes? And the boys..At our dorm. I know it’s very last minute notice and we’ll understand if you can’t make it. They just suddenly decided during dinner just now.”

“Don’t worry. The thing is... I’m busy now... Is tomorrow okay?” You asked. On the other side, you heard whispering and assumed Mingi was asking the other boys if they were okay with tomorrow night instead.

“I’m done. Want me to stay here with you until you’re done?” Dean came to you. You pulled the phone away from your ear temporarily.

“No, go ahead. I should be finishing up soon.” You told him. He nodded and headed back in while you pressed the phone to your ear to continue speaking to Mingi. But it was silent.

“Mingi...? You there?”

“Oh... yeah... The others said they’re fine with tomorrow since you’ll be meeting Hongjoong hyung in the studio. You can just come over with him. Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s oka-” You didn’t even get to reply before he hung up. Blinking in confusion, you looked at the phone. With a shrug, you put your phone back into your pocket and went back into the club. But you didn’t stay long since it was late and you had to work tomorrow.

“Oppa, can we take a picture with you? Please.” Some girls came up to Dean as you were all exiting. This was your chance to slip away before anyone could notice you or take a picture of you hanging out with Dean.

“Tell Hyuk I’ll head back on my own. I’ll see you guys soon.” You exchanged hugs with them.

“Don’t be a stranger, Indigo.” They waved.

On the way home, you did send a text to Dean and another when you arrived home. You took a shower and made some ramen which was always good after a night of drinks.

Since you didn’t drink a lot last night, you were able to wake up and not be hung over. Coffee in hand, you entered KQ.

“Good morning. There were some packages for you that came in yesterday. They have been delivered to your studio.” The security guard said. You nodded your head and bowed before going upstairs. There were some packages outside of your studio door. You unlocked the door, holding it open with your foot as you dragged each parcel in.

“Oh.” You unwrapped the acrylic album boxes to put and display your signed albums, as well as some other things to put in your studio. But then, your phone started buzzing.

‘We got caught, Indigo. Sorry. - Dean’

‘Thankfully it’s not breaking news so I think we’re fine. And no one seems to guess or suspect that it’s you. I’ll damage control if you need. - Dean’

Following his message were links to some article, a mysterious girl being photographed with Dean at the club last night.

‘Who is that?’

‘He comes out of hiatus to show his girlfriend off?’

‘I saw them last night but they were all in a big group and she stood with the rest. Maybe they’re all just friends?’

There were a few comments but not much. Probably because it was common for underground artists to be in relationship and get married. You sighed, leaning back in your chair as you read the comments. Thankfully, no one suspected that it was ‘Prod. Indigo’.

“And they ask why I want to remain a ghost.” You clicked your tongue and left your phone aside to turn on your computer systems. After that, you were only focused on your work.

Besides working on your own projects, you had some meetings throughout the day, with Edenary and with some other company representatives.

“No one recognised you but just be careful, okay Indigo? Especially since you’re now hanging out with Ateez.” Eden advised.

“It was really just hanging with friends. There was a group of us.” You scratched your head.

“I understand and while you’re not under KQ’s contract and rules, it’s for your safety. Especially if we are protecting your identity.” Eden smiled empathetically. You just nodded, knowing he was in a difficult spot too.

“I will be more careful.” You assured. You gathered your things and left the studio to continue working,

“Hmmmm~ Please work out, my melody~” You sang and hummed the melody to yourself out loud as you worked, wheeling your chair between the computer, the MIDI board and your syntehsizer as you needed. When you were done with one section, you would play it back to yourself and make any changes if necessary. Then your doorbell rang.

“Coming!” You removed your headphone and quickly saved your files before wearing your mask and going to answer the door. Poking your head out, you blinked at Hongjoong.

“Hongjoong...?”

“We were supposed to meet at 4? Remember?” He tilted his head with a smile, laughing at your confused expression.

“Oh! I did not realise that it was 4 already. Please come in.” You let him into the studio. That was when you noticed Mingi behind him. Mingi stiffly bowed to you and you felt the need to bow back to him.

“I hope you don’t mind but Mingi wanted to tag along.” Hongjoong told you.

“Sure. Have a seat. The more input the better.” You chuckled and walked back to your desk. Hongjoong grabbed a stool to sit beside you at the desk.

“But I don’t know anything about producing.” Mingi spoke.

“That’s okay. I will gladly accept any opinion and input, it’s still in the experimental stage anyway.” You smiled through your eyes to him before turning back to the computer.

“There’s still space here. It’ll be better to listen from a closer distance.” You pointed to the spot on your other side after noticing that Mingi sat on the couch at the back. He nodded and grabbed a stool to sit. But unlike Hongjoong, he sat a little further back instead of right beside you.

“So I’ll let you listen to the revised stuff. There’s not much of a change so I think the additional remix beats can still work. The only thing I did was put more emphasis on the guitar rather than the piano.” You explained.

“Okay. Mingi ah, maybe you can come up with some lyrics too.” Hongjoong nodded over to the tall male, who nodded his head, as you clicked around to find the folder in your computer.

“Oh right. You’re the lyricist.” You remembered what Hongjoong told you when you first met him. You played the music and he swayed along.

“Just have fun with it and experiment.” You told him.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Hongjoong pulled his sleeves up and began to work. The atmosphere became very serious with all of you focusing on your task. Even Mingi was leaning forward, a serious look on his face.

“I would try it with less bass and more snare.” Hongjoong said after listening to the track.

“Go ahead.” You nodded to him to start.

After working for a while, you decided to take a break. You grabbed a drink from the mini fridge you finally had set up in your studio. You encouraged the two males to choose their own drinks since there were different kinds in there. Then you all sat down together, with them on the couch and you still in your comfy working chair, to talk.

“Are you okay? We saw the news article... That was you, right? With Dean sunbaenim.” Hongjoong asked.

“Oh yeah. It’s not a big deal. We’re friends but haven’t seen each other in a bit so we all met up as a group. At least no one recognised it as me. I mean, you guys would have because you kind of know what I look like.” You laughed.

“That’s a relief.” Mingi said.

“Thank you for your concern though. But there’s no need to worry.” You assured, assuming Mingi was referring to you being safe despite the news.

“We didn’t know you were friends with underground artists. Dean subaenim is very popular and talented.” Hongjoong said.

“I mean, I’ve worked with them a lot more. But Hyuk, he kind of helped me when I was first starting out since he was older and has a lot more experience. So I feel grateful to him.” You shrugged. The two nodded their heads.

“Other than that, you’ve been here for 2 weeks. How has it been?” Hongjoong changed the subject.

“It’s been good. Not much has changed work wise. But I really appreciate how welcoming all of you have been and the care you have shown despite only knowing me for two weeks.” You said shyly.

“Of course, as long as you’re comfortable here. Like San said, we’re all family here. We help each other out and care for one another.” Hongjoong smiled warmly, making you feel even more embarrassed. You were not always the best with expressing feelings and emotions.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had someone care so much for me before.” You said in passing with a laugh. But the sad looks Hongjoong and Mingi sent you made you retract your statement.

“Ah, no! I don’t- I’m not saying I-” You shook your hands as you grew flustered.

“It’s okay.” Mingi comforted. You chewed on your bottom lip behind your mask, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“W-We should get back to work if we want to end soon.” You pointed to the desk, immediately turning around and wheeling yourself back, so they wouldn’t see your face and you wouldn’t have to meet their eyes.

You continued to work with Hongjoong as he fine tuned it. Even if he was just adding a beat, you admired how focused and determined he was. He was a perfectionist.

“So, any lyric ideas yet?” Your question was directed at Mingi after seeing him type away on his phone. Your eyes remained on the screen as you added Hongjoong’s beat with some editing.

“Is this an Ateez song?” He blinked.

“It can be. Nothing is set in stone. Just wanted to know if you were inspired or something. Or think there’s a theme to go with the song.” You shrugged.

“I only asked that because if it is an Ateez song, I would have to write lyrics that can reflect all the members like their style of conveying words. It is different if I was writing for someone else or for myself.” He explained. You nodded your head, processing his rationale. It did make sense and you felt bad for assuming he meant anything negative.

“I’ve never written lyrics before. It feels too... personal.” You chuckled.

“You’ve never tried?” Hongjoong asked.

“Of course I’ve tried. Some entertainment companies want the whole package, beat, melody and lyrics for their artists to use. But I think similar to what Mingi said, it’s... for the lack of a better word, vulnerable.” You said.

“I agree. I think there’s a perception that we just pour feelings onto paper and write out whatever emotional line there is. But we also have to know what feelings to separate.” Mingi added.

“Alright, let’s listen to this again.” You pressed play and the 3 of you listened intently. Only when it ended, you saw the smile on Hongjoong’s face.

“I think we got it.” He chuckled. You nodded in agreement excitedly. When music works well, it is one of the most satisfying, heart warming, rewarding thing ever.

“It’s great. I like it.” Mingi nodded in approval.

“Good job.” Hongjoong reached out and patted your head, a soft smile on his head. It was something you grew comfortable with him doing. He was really like an older brother and working with him was a breeze, considering the two of you had similar working styles and personalities.

“It’s thanks to you two. Ah, I’m so happy.” You leaned your head back with a blissful sigh.

“I didn’t do anything. It was all you and the captain.” Mingi shook his head.

“Your thoughts and opinions helped improve it, Mingi ah. It was good that you tagged along today.” Hongjoong said and you nodded. You saw Mingi blush at Hongjoong’s words, looking away shyly.

Series Masterlist

206 notes · View notes

itsmkjones · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine: Sam forcing you to go to bed

Okay. So you'd gotten a little obsessive. And, sure, that tunnel vision drive had robbed you of a real night sleep for three days straight, resulting in unplanned naps at an hour intervals at most, adding up to two whole hours. But was it really fair that your body demanded sleep when Sam and Dean habitually did the same thing? And that's how you got to day four, hallucinating every time you looked at something too bright or too dark.

"Y/n…?" Sam called out softly after coming into the room to see you staring blankly at your hand. "You alright?"

"Huh?" You could barely pay attention to him, much less summon the mental stamina to craft a proper response.

Sam hesitated. "I asked if you were alright…"

"Uh huh."

Sam glanced back, wondering if he should call for Dean, then decided to approach you first instead. "What's going on?"

"This spot on my wrist."

"Spot?" Sam blinked in surprise when you clumsily shoved your hand in his face. He gently took it wrist. "I see it. What about it?"

"It's a spider."

Sam's brows knitted. "What?"

"All spots are spiders."

"Uh…"

"Spider. Spider. Spider." You repeated, poking the visible moles on his skin. "It goes away when you touch it. Then reappears!"

"Are you high or something?"

"Let me take off your shirt." You didn't wait for permission, sliding your hands up his hard abs. You would have enjoyed it more if your brain didn't feel encased in cotton, but as a solid to your future self, you made sure to indulge in the experience.

"Why the hell are you taking off my shirt?" Sam's voice cracked as he startled back, hands wavering in the air, unsure of what to do.

"You have the cutest mole right… here." You caressed the curve of his neck.

Sam's breath hitched and his throat worked as he struggled to reply. "You didn't need to take my shirt off to see it- Y/n!"

You opportunistically slipped under his shirt, kissing the spot. "God, I've always wanted to do that."

"Have you been drinking?" Sam jumped back when your hand dipped under his jeans. "Jesus, Y/n! What the hell?"

You blinked at him, mind blanking.

"Y/n?" Sam stepped forward cautiously when you didn't respond. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday maybe?" You felt yourself swaying, but it didn't feel dangerous even when Sam jerked forward to keep you upright.

"For how long?"

"I don't know math." You scowled indignantly. "How dare you, Winchester? -Like twenty minutes or something."

Sam sighed. "How long has it been since the last time you really slept?"

"Um…" You closed your eyes to think and the swaying got worse. "Anyways. Take off your pants."

"What? No." Sam frowned. "Try to concentrate for a second."

"How can I supposed to do that?" You whined shamelessly. "Real Y/n wants to see the goods!"

Sam flushed and it took clearing his throat twice to find his voice. "Real Y/n?"

You nodded. "Awake Y/n. Not sleepy Y/n." You grabbed his waistband. "There's a pot going on amongst hunters about how hung you are. I'll keep it a secret if you do, but shouldn't I know since we're friends? You can't keep secrets from your friends."

"Okay. Bedtime for you." Sam threw you over his shoulder when your fingers started to graze downward.

"I'm not sleepy." You pouted. "My brain is too awake."

"I'll give you warm milk or something. Just get into the bed and stop touching me." Sam's voice was hard.

You stopped sliding your hands over the lines of his back muscles sulkily. "You're so bossy. Isn't it your fault that you're so damn fine? Take some responsibility! Coming out of the shower with nothing, but a towel on…"

"I didn't know you were there!"

"That doesn't make me not want to lick every damn drop of water off of you." You suddenly became cheerful. "Stay hydrated everyone."

"Please stop talking." Sam swallowed hard.

"I'll show you yours, if you show me mine." You offered.

"That's not-" Sam broke off with a sigh, then pushed open your bedroom door and set you down. "Get some sleep." He sighed again when you stared at him in blank confusion. "Sleep, Y/n. Please?"

"I forgot how the bed works."

"You forgot…" Sam covered his eyes with his hands, scrubbing his face hard. "Go lay down."

You walked backwards until your legs hit the bed, then toppled inelegantly on the mattress. Sam's face fell. Begrudgingly, he scooped you up and laid you further back on the blankets. He rolled you up tightly in an impromptu swaddle before you could do anything else.

"I'm a burrito. Eat me."

"Go to sleep, Y/n."

"But you and Dean stay up all the time." Your face crumpled with a wave of sorrow.

Sam softened. "You aren't us."

"But you won't want me anymore."

Sam's lips thinned with an empathetic smile. "We can talk about this later."

"You've got a cute mole by your nose too."

Sam turned off the light, but didn't leave. A moment later, you felt him sit next to you. "I never had anyone try to help me fall asleep, so I'm not really sure how to help you, but… I saw this in a movie once. A mom putting down her kid…"

You relaxed instantly as his fingers brushed back your hair in long, gentle strokes. Sam smiled at your satisfied hums.

"Good night, Y/n." Sam said softly when your breathing slowed.

142 notes · View notes

according2thelore · 11 months ago

Note

do you guys think the ls boys would take the younger ones on a (normal, non-apocalyptic) hunt? bc I could see that going one of two ways:

1. smothering overprotectiveness, literally checking that es!boys guns’ are loaded correctly before they head out. es!dean can barely get a glimpse of the werewolf bc sam is literally standing in front of him the whole time.

2. LS salmondean are so used to hunting with each other and being at the top of their game and having SUCH faith in their brother’s abilities that they very much are out of step with their younger selves, like: sam tosses the lighter behind him without looking, thinking es!dean will naturally catch it & light ‘em up, but dean is fully across the graveyard swinging an iron poker. this ends up with an easy hunt being kind of a disaster and someone gets hurt (maybe es!sam — if it’s s1 sam, he’s by far the least experienced & most out-of-practice of all of them).

(it seems you guys are getting tons of asks feel free to ignore this if it’s stressful!!!! i do not need a reply i just love your thoughts)

HOLY SHIT!!!!

I CAN SEE EVERY EQUATION!!! YOUR BRAIN!!!! IS A MASSIVE BRAIN!!!!!!!!

i had to write them both because WHAT

if they go hunting, it's small, and it's unavoidable.

LS!Dean picks up a newspaper out of habit when he does the shopping that week, and on the front page in ink-smeared gory detail, lewis dalton, age 57 found dead in home, ripped to shreds. no sign of forced entry. lived alone.

ES!Sam finds the newspaper.

"hey. this is our thing, right? it's up in hastings. that's pretty close."

LS!Dean keeps trying to demur like well, no, someone else will take care of it. he can call some friends, and they'll check it out.

"are they closer?"

"well, no, but--"

"what's the harm? let me go tell the others."

and they come to a (hesitant) agreement that, yeah, they're probably best suited to it. because things that rip people to shreds don't usually stop at just one hamburger helper.

it's the quickest hunt ever because LS!Sam&Dean don't let ES!Sam&Dean even see the monster

it turns out to be the vengeful ghost of the vic's uncle.

before they even get there, LS!Sam&Dean do a full weapons check. they take practice swings with all of their iron implements, and mutter to each other about which ones have the "best balance" and the "most force." they solemnly present ES!SalmonDean with their weapons, an iron pipe and iron poker, respectively.

LS!SalmonDean keep trading worried looks the whole way to the cemetery, and ES!SalmonDean feel weirdly like they have two overprotective dads driving them to a hockey match with a notoriously intimidating team of middle schoolers.

they do a checklist when they get out of the car, and ES!Sam's eyes widen when he sees LS!Dean pull four gas cans out of the trunk.

"are we lighting the whole cemetery on fire?" he asks

"it's a back-up." LS!Dean says soberly.

"all three?"

"yes. wait until you see how many match books i brought."

he makes ES!Sam put five in each pocket.

they track it down to a cemetery outside of town, and ES!Sam&Dean don't protest too heavily when LS!Sam&Dean say they've got the grave-digging covered. it's a little condescending, but a) no physical labor is a plus and b) holy goddamn mother of good god. the sweating. the panting. the flushed cheeks. the bulging muscles. it's like a chippendales show.

when the ghost pops up, LS!Sam vaults out of the grave one-armed like an olympian and knocks it away with an iron poker before backing up towards ES!Dean, head on a swivel.

ES!Dean's picked up his iron, but LS!Sam is standing so close that he ends up having to hold it mostly out to his side. LS!Sam is circling him quickly, making sure that nothing has the chance to sneak up on him.

"two o'clock!" LS!Dean shouts from the grave, even though he's dozens of feet away, like the older winchesters had worked this out beforehand, and ES!Dean looks up, but LS!Sam's bulk is in the way. ES!Dean tries to swerve around him, but LS!Sam is already reacting, shielding dean with a single minded focus as he takes a swipe at the ghost presumably there.

LS!Sam even has a hand out behind him, making sure ES!Dean isn't going to do something stupid like help on the hunt that they came here to do.

ES!Dean feels like the president. he's pretty sure if he sneezed really hard, LS!Sam would whip out his gun and start shooting individual dust motes out of the air.

ES!Sam wants to help, as he can see LS!Sam is wedged between ES!Dean and the ghost that's coming after them doggedly. but LS!Dean whistles to catch his attention, and nods back down at the grave.

ES!Sam jumps down into the grave to help, and has been digging for a few minutes when he hears a screech--abruptly close. he startles, looking up, and LS!Dean is panting and throwing his iron weapon aside before jumping back into the grave. when the fuck did he crawl out?

"did the--why didn't you say--"

"no big deal," LS!Dean pants, wiping blood from his temple. "it was barely there for a second."

they crawl out of the grave when they're ready to salt and burn, and when ES!Sam starts to run away--about to take a swing at the ghost coming after them--LS!Dean drops the book of matches with a curse and overtakes him, swinging his iron girder shard with a strength that--if there were a baseball and not a ghost there--would have broken world records.

LS!Dean at one point literally picks up ES!Sam by the waist and puts him out of harm's way, to which ES!Sam shouts, startled, and flails.

ES!Sam manages to run back to the grave and light the matches and drop them into the grave. the bones light.

the bones finally burn completely, and the four of them stand above the grave, watching them crumple into ash.

LS!Sam&Dean are panting, covered in sweat, dirt, grass, and blood. ES!Sam has mud on his boots. ES!Dean is blinking, confused, because he's not sure what the fuck just happened.

"that was fun!" LS!Dean says, wiping sweat from his forehead. "i have never been more stressed in my life. can we go home now?"

total time seeing the ghost: Sam, 32.51 seconds; Dean, the 44.09 seconds it took for LS!Sam to run back to him with the force and single-minded killer instinct of the terminator, a sight so simultaneously arousing and frightening that dean's dick gave up in confusion

this is the worst hunt anyone has ever been on, they collapse in a heap of tangled limbs at the entrance of the house, it's a miracle they don't accidentally kill each other

as soon as they get they get a lead on the werewolf, it's followed the vic's brother--don--to the vic's house, where he's boxing up lewis's belongings.

don is already a werewolf glove when they get there--the werewolf's got one hand inside of his stomach, and his leg is torn apart below the right knee.

LS!Dean whips off his belt to use as a tourniquet, and tosses it to LS!Sam who catches it without even blinking, moving as one unit.

ES!SalmonDean run head-first at the thing, and ES!Dean gets tossed bodily through the dining table. ES!Sam sneaks up behind it and gets his gun with silver bullets knocked out his hands as the beast whirls around and tries to tackle him.

LS!Dean can't take a shot because if the bullet goes through, it will hit ES!Sam, so he jumps on its back like a madman and uses his body weight to throw them both back. it lashes out at LS!Dean, who now has no belt, and rips his pants right off. its claws tear straight through the waistband of his jeans, and leave a nasty rake on his left thigh.

LS!Dean, pantless, reassesses his strategy. ES!Dean is just now getting up, and is shocked to see his own bare legs. it takes him a full fifteen seconds to realize that those are in fact, not his own legs.

ES!Sam, taking his moment, runs back to the supply bag that's next to LS!Sam, who has effortlessly applied a tourniquet to Don's leg, and is applying pressure to his abdomen.

LS!Sam is rooting with his other hand in the bag, getting ready to help LS!Dean in the fight, but ES!Sam bats his hands away.

"oh my god. i'm dead. there are triplets with guns!" don mutters, delirious. and okay. there are only two of them. but alright. allowances can be made for hypovolemia.

"i've got it! back off!" ES!Sam shouts, knocking LS!Sam's hands away more firmly.

"dean has no pants!" LS!Sam roars, and both deans go,

"not my fault!" and "stop looking at him!" simultaneously.

a sound like a dog yelping from behind them, and they turn around to see ES!Dean and the werewolf take each other to the floor.

"did you fucking punch it?" LS!Dean screams, chasing after the tangled, tumbling ball of fur and leather that's rolling wildly across the floor.

"i panicked! i goddamn panicked!" ES!Dean screeches, shoving the leg of the destroyed table into the werewolf's mouth that it bites almost clean in half.

ES!Sam finally finds another gun buried under the chains and lock picks and assorted knives.

"i've got the silver!" ES!Sam shouts, trying to jump over LS!Sam, who sits up at that exact moment to receive a full-strength kick straight to the brain.

LS!Sam is unconscious. the vic is still bleeding out. LS!Dean is trying to bodily force the werewolf off of his younger self, who is hitting the werewolf on the head with the two halves of his now-broken table leg and shouting obscenities like the world's worst drummer.

ES!Sam yells, "dean! catch!" because someone has to hold pressure on this wound now that LS!Sam is unconscious, and slides the gun as hard as he can in LS!Dean's direction.

bad thing: there are two deans.

they both instinctively turn around to catch whatever has just been thrown, and the werewolf that had been resisting LS!Dean's arms now slams into ES!Dean underneath him at full force, who was now splayed, arms open on the hardwood.

ES!Dean now has at least two broken ribs. and slobber in his hair. he kicks out at the original crack of his fucking bones and the gun goes skittering in the other direction, so LS!Dean chases after it. as soon as he has it, he whips around and shoots all nine bullets into the werewolf's back across the room.

ES!Dean is now covered in blood, has broken ribs, and thinks--for a second--that holy shit! he just got shot!

LS!Dean has no pants.

he is also bleeding profusely from his asscheek.

ES!Sam is three inches deep in don dalton's abdomen.

LS!Sam is groggily waking up, also covered almost to the elbows in blood, and with a knot the size of a baseball on his head.

"you just committed suicide, fucker!" ES!Dean wails, before he realizes. oh. okay. he's fine.

they all shakily stand up (except for ES!Sam, who drops LS!Sam's cell phone into Don's abdomen, then wipes the blood off on his jeans while dialing 9-1-1 (thank god for face id on these newfangled cell-phones. sam's phone is a little confused, but yeah? that's the same facial structure it guesses.)).

"let's do this again" ES!Dean says, before throwing up all over his boots.

~~~

which one it ends up being i think depends entirely on what the monster is, and how far along they are in this little misadventure. i think as time goes on, they'd be able to be more reasonable about their younger selves. at first, it's hard, because it's such a shock. ES!Sam is not a baby, but to LS!Dean, that is literally his baby. it would take him a couple of weeks? months? to recognize the fact that these are adult men that have experience in the life.

personally, i favour the former because it makes me giggle and twirl my hair but practically, the latter is more likely.

and do not apologize! i love getting these asks and hearing from y'all! i worry i'm bothering my mutuals with them--i'm sorry mutuals! i love you! so much! i am kissing you!

charlotte's been busy w work, but honestly she's dodging a lizzy-sized bullet bc i am thinking abt these boys all day.

thanks again for this ask, anon! your brain! i loved your little descriptions of each scenario! brilliance!

ps, i went more humorous with the second, but oh lord. you've got me thinking about The Angst. oh gosh. i might have to...i might have to make a full narrative ficlet about it. would that be something you would be interested in?

regardless, mwah! <3

-lizzy

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #anon <3 #this one was SO FUN HOLY SHIT

26 notes · View notes

senashenta · 7 months ago

Text

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: NC-17 (in future chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: This is my first time writing Destiel OR SPN (though I have written SPN AU in other fandoms) so please bear with me while I get my footing.

Also HH was originally supposed to be like a 10-page one-shot and the next thing I knew it was 79-pages-of-11-pt-Arial-and-counting and I was looking for places to divide it for chapters so. Yeah. This storyline kind of just took over my brain and became a THING.

Top Dean and Bottom Cas which I know is the reverse of how 90% of the fandom writes them, but I am tentatively planning a sequel to HH (depending on how well it does or doesn’t go over) that will flip them around so be patient shhhh.

Cas is younger than Dean in this AU by like… six months. Dean’s official birthday is January 24th, and I used Jimmy Novak’s birthday for Cas, which is July 10th. Since they’re both in the same grade that makes Cas younger. Just accept it and move on.

I have never been to Jacksonville or Florida, so everything contained within this fic is completely fictitious; business names, street names, school names, place names, everything except Jacksonville, Florida itself. :D

ALSO, before anyone corrects me on stuff, I am CANADIAN and I know the CANADIAN high school system/curriculum. I really have very little idea of how the US school system/classes work so like. I’m just making it up as I go. :D;; (Literally how many classes do US high school students have in a day?? Up here it’s FOUR.)

Please excuse my interpretation of jorogumos, I took a LOT of liberties.

Chapter Two will be posted next Friday, if you're into that sort of thing. You can also read this HERE on AO3.

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter One By Senashenta

Dean Winchester crept up the steps of Caspar High School in Jacksonville, Florida, and ducked under the line of police tape that marked off the area, heading for the little tent that had been erected just to the side of the building, near the bushes. The whole scene was theoretically being guarded by the police—but the officer they had left behind was asleep in his police car out front.

Bang up job, Jacksonville P.D.

That aside, Dean was good at his job, so sneaking into a crime scene was no big deal for him, guarded or not. And this was just your basic body check, there wouldn’t be any fighting or anything to wake the cop up—or that was the theory, anyway. (Even if there was, it wouldn’t be his first time being caught and or arrested, either, but they would probably just chalk it up to him being a nosy kid regardless.)

This was the first time his Dad had trusted him enough to drop him in a town to take care of a case alone. Of course, Sam was in Jacksonville with Dean while their Dad headed to Utah to look into a recent spate of killings there, but Sam was pretty much confined to school and the motel on this outing, as per their father’s orders. Still, Dean was going to be keeping a close eye on him: Sam had been known to rabbit in the past and he didn’t want to have to call his Dad and explain that he had lost his little brother (again.)

Now, Dean stealthily unzipped the tent flap and stepped inside, letting it fall closed behind himself.

What he was confronted with when his eyes adjusted to the darkness wasn’t a body so much as a cocoon, an oblong, rounded object the size of a person and wrapped in layers and layers of what looked almost like off-white cheesecloth or gauze. Dean leaned down and tapped at it with his fingers. It was soft, like silk.

Well that would explain why the police hadn’t taken the body away yet; there was no body, per se.

“Let’s see what’s inside you.”

Dean pulled the buck knife out of the back of his jeans, unsheathed it, and got to work cutting the cocoon open. The wrapping, though soft, was tough and sticky, hard to slice through, but eventually he hacked a seam lengthways along the cocoon, at which point he set his knife aside to pull the damned thing open.

Inside was the actual body; male, probably, and curled in on itself, shrivelled and desiccated and dried to a withered husk. At least it didn’t smell. Dean still made a face, even as he released the cocoon and picked up his knife, tucking it away again before exiting the little tent and heading off down the street, making for the motel he and Sam were staying at.

The Seafoam Motel wasn’t exactly high-class, but then none of the places they stayed at ever were. But it had walls and a roof, good locks on the door, it was cheap, and nobody asked too many questions about the occupants of the rooms, and those were all the important things. The Seafoam Motel ticked all the boxes for a financially strapped Hunter—and for his kids, too. Not that you would know it from Sam’s complaining.

At least it had wifi, the kid would have pitched an absolute fit if it hadn’t.

When he got back to the room the door was predictably locked (good job, Sammy), and Dean banged on it a couple of times, calling out, “Sammy, it’s me, open the door!”

After a moment of silence there was the sound of the chain lock and deadbolt being unlocked, and then the door was yanked open. Sam stepped aside to let Dean in and then closed and locked the door behind him, just like it had been drilled into him so many times in the past. “What’d you find?”

“Cocoon.”

“Come again?”

“Cocoon.” Dean repeated as he crossed the room, pulling his knife out and setting it on the little kitchenette table, then dropping into one of the rickety chairs. “You know, like the movie? The body was inside it. Wrapped up in this tough, sticky… I don’t know what. But it sure looked a hell of a lot like a cocoon to me.”

Sam was already heading for his laptop. “That gives us a place to start, at least.”

“Oh no, no no.” Dean headed him off at the pass, practically diving over and snatching the computer before Sam could get to it. “You’re not doing research all night, we have freaking school in the morning.” And then, “…I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Yeah, because you care about school.” Sam rolled his eyes and made a grab for the laptop, but Dean held it over his head where he couldn’t reach. “Dean.”

“I care about the girls at school.” He informed his brother with a grin, then added, “and it’s nearly two a.m., we’re going to bed. Research tomorrow. Sleep now. Besides, I have to check out the school some more anyway, just a cocoon isn’t going to give us much.”

Sam grumbled, eventually agreed, but still held his hand out for his computer. Dean deposited the laptop safely into his grasp and then started stripping down, falling into bed once he was in just his boxers and a t-shirt. “Get the lights, Sammy.”

Sam flicked the lights off with a long-suffering sigh.

-- --

Castiel Novak wasn’t having a great first day at Caspar High. He was relatively used to being the New Kid, his father’s job had them moving around a lot so he switched schools on a regular basis, but the hazing at Caspar was particularly mean spirited, he was finding, not to mention the building itself was an absolute maze, and he had been late for literally all of his morning classes simply because he hadn’t been able to find them and no one had been willing to help him out.

Now he was seated in the cafeteria, by himself but surrounded by the rest of the bustling student body, unsure what to really do with himself.

This wasn’t his first time being the New Kid. He and his father moved around a lot for his father’s job and Caspar High was the third school he’d transferred to since September. It was now January. His father promised that the moving would slow down, though; he could see how much it wore on Cas, even if the boy never said anything about it. He was going to start travelling for his seminars, instead, now that he felt Cas was old enough to stay home on his own. So Cas could potentially be at Caspar for a while.

He probably should have been worried about making friends. For most kids his age that would have been top priority, but Cas had always been a little different, and he thought he was fine on his own, if it came down to it, especially considering the first impression he was getting of the other students so far. It figured that the High School he was likely to actually graduate from would turn out to be full of nothing but jerks.

He was also possibly a little jaded from all the moving around he’d done in the past.

For the time being he just dug his lunch—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water—out of his backpack, unwrapped the sandwich and began to pick little pieces of it off and eat them, rather than taking proper bites as he usually would. He wasn’t really all that hungry, considering there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes on him at the moment.

And then—

“HEY NEW KID!”

When Cas looked up, a basketball was flying at his face and he had no time to duck out of the way—but at the last possible second hands shot out of nowhere, snatching the ball out of the air before it could hit its’ target. Blue eyes blinked, and his head swivelled sideways to take in the stranger that had just saved him from a black eye at the very least.

The guy wasn’t overly tall—probably around Cas’s height, give or take—with short, tousled brown hair. He was sporting a t-shirt and a flannel button-up under a worn black jean jacket. He was also wearing ripped jeans. But Cas was most taken by his eyes, which were a sharp, beautiful forest green. As he watched, the other boy eyed the kid across the cafeteria who had thrown the ball to begin with—then abruptly pitched it back at the offender. The ball slammed into the other kid’s head, sending him flying backward out of his seat and causing laugher to erupt all across the cafeteria.

Then his rescuer just looked down at him for a moment before dropping down to sit next to him, straddling the bench. “They tried that on me my first day here, too. Same thing happened then. You’d think they’d learn.”

“Thank you.” Cas offered with a blink.

“No problem.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a mouthful. I’m Dean.” And then, “the fact that you’re wearing a tie right now isn’t going to help your popularity. Also,” he reached over to physically pull the tie off Cas’s neck and dropped it on the table in front of them. Cas allowed it, somewhat baffled. “You had it on backwards. Honestly, dude, just wear t-shirts like the rest of us.”

“I can do that.” Cas agreed. He owned t-shirts. He grabbed his tie to stuff it into his backpack. Then he returned to looking at Dean, taking in his features and mannerisms. He was exceedingly good-looking, Cas decided almost absently. At the same time, Dean was looking him over as well, seeming to take stock of him, gaze alert and analytical. Scrutinizing.

Eventually Cas shifted a little and asked, “are you new, too?”

“New-ish.” Dean shrugged, “I transferred in two weeks ago.”

“That’s why you’re nicer than...” Cas trailed off and glanced around the cafeteria.

“Literally everyone else here?” Dean suggested with a laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it, but yes.”

“It gets better. After a few days they forget. They’re dumb like that, the masses.”

“Zombies.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated, but then allowed, “yeah, sure, kind of.”

“You don’t sound very certain, Dean.”

“Well, Cas, I just think zombies are probably different than in the movies.”

Wait. “Cas?” He called himself ‘Cas’ in his head, but no one ever called him that out loud except his father.

Dean gave him a little amused look, “’Castiel’ is a lot.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“As long as it’s fine with you, that is.”

Cas nodded and offered a smile. “It’s fine with me.”

Dean gave him a little grin back. “Great.”

The rest of lunch hour was spent with Cas actually eating his lunch properly while he talked with Dean and they got to know each other a little. No one else bothered them for the rest of the time they were in the cafeteria, and Cas was hoping he would have at least one of his afternoon classes with Dean, but when they compared their schedules, it sadly wasn’t to be. Cas resigned himself to hazing throughout the day for at least the next week or so—until the rest of the student body moved on.

It was a novelty to talk with someone who overlooked his innate strangeness. Cas was so used to people giving him odd looks that Dean chatting with him as freely as he was now, was… almost baffling. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who could be popular, have tons of friends easily, and instead here he was wasting his time with Cas. It was… weird. Not that Cas was complaining.

When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch hour, Cas was mildly disappointed that their conversation had to end. He shifted in his seat a bit before asking tentatively, “you could sit with me again tomorrow, If you wanted?”

“I’ve already got a spot where I spend lunch hour, usually. Not in here.” Dean replied casually, making Cas wilt a little, then; “but you can join me if you want. Meet me by the gym tomorrow at the start of lunch, okay?”

Cas brightened again, nodding. “Okay.”

“Cool.” Dean stood up and brushed the nonexistent dust off himself with a grin, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas.”

Cas smiled back. “Mm, see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t know where Dean was going, but he was off to calculus class—assuming he could find it.

-- --

“Hey, New Kid.”

Cas was really getting tired of being called that, but at least this time there had been no malice behind it. More curiosity, if anything. He was seated in calculus, having found it with (relative) ease, trying to keep his head down and out of trouble when the voice spoke up from in front of him. He reluctantly lifted his head.

The girl in the seat in front of him was twisted around in her chair to face him, a wide smile on her face. Her hair was the reddest red that Cas thought it could possibly be. She gave him a little wave. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”

Cas hesitated before offering, “Castiel. But just Cas is fine.”

“Wow, yeah, ‘Castiel’ is…”

“A lot.” Cas echoed Dean’s words from earlier in the day. He was starting to relax now that Charlie was turning out to be friendly. He sat up a little straighter. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Charlie glanced around, “I know most of the population of his school are jerks, but calculus is a pretty safe class, so you can relax a little. Oh!” She gestured to the side at another girl, “this is Jody,” and then to the boy sitting in the seat beside Cas, “and this is Garth. They’re cool too.”

Jody had short brown hair and dark eyes, and almost a maternal smile; Garth was tall and lanky, kind of goofy looking but gave him a greeting grin that Cas couldn’t help smiling back to. He was definitely feeling more comfortable now, in this class, at least.

“I saw what happened at lunch,” Charlie said, pulling his attention back to her, “Dean Winchester saved you, which, like… what was he even doing in the cafeteria? He always vanishes at lunch time. No one knows where he goes. It’s a mystery.” She wiggled her fingers a little, “he must like you, ‘cause he usually just keeps to himself, or he has since he transferred in, anyway.”

“Mn, he said he was new, too.”

“Yeah, by a couple weeks. No one dares pick on him, though, he’d kick everyone’s asses.”

Cas coughed out a little laugh. “I got that impression.” Then, after a slight hesitation, “he said I could sit with him at lunch tomorrow. So.”

“Ooh, exciting! You’ll have to tell us where he eats lunch, then!” Charlie grinned at him, then rolled her eyes slightly, “aaaaaaall the girls have a crush on him. He’s handsome and mysterious and blah blah blah.”

“You think he’s over-rated.” Jody informed flatly, though her expression was amused.

“Over-rated?” Cas questioned.

“Charlie is gay.” Garth explained. “Like, so gay.”

“So gay.” Charlie agreed.

“Oh.” Cas shrugged. It didn’t bother him. “I’m not entirely straight myself.”

Charlie just grinned. “So you don’t think Dean Winchester is over-rated.”

He cleared his throat and glanced down a little. “He’s not unattractive.”

“Yeaaaah that’s what I thought.”

“I like girls, too, though, I just… I like who I like. I don’t care about their gender.”

“That’s valid.” Charlie gave him a reassuring smile, then just changed the topic entirely; “where’d you move from?”

Cas blinked. “Wichita, Kansas. My Father and I move around a lot for his job… or we did. Now that I’m older I guess he trusts me to stay home alone so he’s going to start travelling instead. So I’m stuck here.”

“It’s not so bad here once you settle in,” Jody reassured him.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded, “and you’ve got us now, so it’s not like you have no friends.”

“You just have weird friends.” Garth laughed.

Cas couldn’t help the little grin that crept across his own face. He was actually perfectly okay with having weird friends.

-- --

In history class, after calculus, somebody tripped him on his way to his seat and Cas fell flat on his face. The rest of the students laughed. Cas just got back up and continued on, pretending nothing had happened. That was the best way to deal with bullies, he had learned, over his long and sordid history of transferring from school to school. Ignore them until they give up and go away.

Or, alternatively, have Dean Winchester throw a basketball at their face. That apparently worked, too.

In any case, after the incident in history, the rest of the day passed easily enough, until Cas found himself standing outside the school after final bell, just taking deep breaths of the fresh air and looking up at the sky—soaking in the fact that he was free, at least for the rest of the day.

“You going left or right?”

Cas blinked at the familiar voice and turned his attention to Dean, who had come up beside him while he was distracted with the general out-of-doors. He glanced toward the route he had to take to get home. “Right. Why?”

“Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh. Okay.” And then, “thanks.”

“Don’t gotta thank me. I’m walking that way anyway.” Dean nudged him to get him moving, and Cas headed off with the other boy by his side.

“No, I mean,” Cas waved one hand in an absent sort of gesture, “I mean for earlier. In the cafeteria. You really didn’t have to do that. And one of the girls I was talking to later said you don’t even usually go in the cafeteria, so I just… thanks. For going out of your way. I appreciate it.”

“You were gossiping about me?”

“I—” Cas began, then clapped his mouth shut again and shook his head in a quick negative. When he spoke up once more it was to mutter, “of course not.”

But Dean was already grinning, looking overly amused. “It’s fine, Cas, I’m used to being gossip fodder. What was she saying about me?”

“That all the girls here think you’re handsome.” Cas told him easily, but conveniently left out the part where he agreed with them. There was no sense in telling a guy he’d just met that he was already developing a crush on him, especially when he might be moving again any day. He really wasn’t sure he trusted his father’s promises that they were going to stay put this time. “And that no one knows where you disappear to at lunch time, apparently it’s a big mystery.”

Dean laughed. “Well you’ll know, starting tomorrow.” He pointed out, “you’re still gonna join me, right?”

Cas actually gave him a surprised look. “I didn’t think you actually—”

“—meant it?” Dean finished for him. His smile softened for just a second before returning to his previous jovial expression. “Mmm… I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. And besides, you’re different from all those other assholes, I can tell.”

“I like to think I am, anyway.” Then, “you are, too.”

Dean grinned again. “I think we’re going to be friends, Cas, I really do.”

Cas offered up a smile of his own, “I’d like that, Dean.”

They walked together for a few blocks, until they got to James Street, at which point Cas paused and gestured down it. This was his turn off, he had to walk down James to get to King Street where he lived, and it was… well, the term “sketchy” came to mind. James Street was all run-down houses, broken fences, guard dogs and probably drug dealers. Dean looked down the street, giving it a thorough eyeballing, before declaring—

“Nope!” He gave Cas a little push toward the street, but then followed him, falling into step beside him as they headed down James. “No way are you walking down here by yourself, dude, that’s just asking to get axe-murdered. Or worse.”

“Worse than axe-murdered?”

“Oh, trust me there are so many worse things than being axe-murdered.”

Cas would have to take his word for it. He couldn’t personally think of any, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. For now he was just going over and over in his head how this guy he had just met was walking him all the way home through a dodgy part of town, even though he didn’t have to. His tiny, newborn crush on Dean Winchester was probably growing teeth already, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Huh?” Cas blinked back to reality at the question and actually had to fumble for a response before managing, “July.”

“January.” Dean was paying very close attention to their surroundings while also trying to maintain a conversation and that was obvious. “So I’m older.”

“Only by six months.” Cas pointed out.

“Still counts. Means you have to do what I say.” Dean grinned at him fleetingly, “those’re the rules!”

“I don’t like those rules.” The younger teen gave a token protest. “I think you made those rules up.”

“Possibly, but they’re important.”

“Why?”

“Could save your life one day.”

Cas laughed softly at that, but Dean didn’t, instead falling silent until they were past James Street and out of the sketchy area that Cas had very much walked through unescorted on his way to school that morning. Dean relaxed visibly as soon as they were back to “normal” neighborhoods, his steps easier and his shoulder slouching a little, where they had been tense and taut only a moment before.

Honestly, Cas wasn’t entirely sure what was up with Dean, but clearly something was going on inside his head. He would love to have picked Dean’s brain about it, but he really didn’t think Dean would be up for sharing. Maybe he had an incident in his past, something to do with a neighborhood like James that had him acting like he was now. Cas thought possibly once they got to know each other a little bit more, he might ask, but for now…

“I live on King.” He gestured down the street in question when they neared it, “I really can walk from here, I… um. But thanks. Again.”

Dean’s steps slowed to a stop and he glanced around, as if checking the surrounding neighborhood before deeming it safe. “Okay, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Be careful walking that way on your way to school in the morning.”

“I will.” Cas gave him a little smile, “thanks, Dean. See you tomorrow.” Then he turned and headed across the street to King, where his father was likely waiting to hear a rundown of his day.

-- --

Lunch time the next day found Cas nervously waiting outside the gym, half expecting Dean not to show—that it had all been an elaborate prank.

Cas’s morning had gone alright, though, everyone seemed to be steering clear now that it had circulated that Dean Winchester was looking out for him. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Dean had done to garner his reputation, but whatever it was it had been effective.

“Hey.” A hand clapped into his shoulder and when Cas glanced up, Dean was standing there, “c’mon.”

Cas just stared at him. “You actually came.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean gave him an odd look, then gestured for him to follow and headed into the gym. It was empty right now, except for them, and Cas trailed after Dean as they walked around the side of the bleachers—and Dean ducked into the back of them, then dropped down and settled with his back against the wall. He waved a hand for Cas to join him.

Cas clambered in behind the bleachers as well, taking a seat beside Dean and setting his backpack beside him. “This is where you spend lunch?”

“Yeah. It’s private. Quiet, usually.” Dean shrugged, “I don’t mind you being here, though.”

Cas blinked at that, not quite sure what to say. “I—thanks?”

Dean tossed him a grin. “You don’t have to thank me for everything, Cas.”

But it was the polite thing to do. Cas opened his mouth—then closed it again. After a moment he just shrugged almost awkwardly and dug in his backpack for his lunch, unwrapping his sandwich and beginning to eat. He was so severely unused to having friends that this was difficult for him—socializing. He didn’t really know how to do it.

“Hey, what’s your family like?” Cas glanced over when Dean spoke up. The other boy had his head leaned back against the wall, his hands laced over his stomach and his eyes were staring off somewhere into the middle-distance.

“My family?” Cas swallowed a bite of sandwich and resisted the urge to shrug again. “It’s just me and my Father. He adopted me when I was five, but I don’t remember anything before then. It’s always just been the two of us.”

Dean smiled a little and looked at him. “I’ve got me, and my Dad, and my annoying little brother. But we get by okay.”

So neither of them had Moms. That was interesting. Cas took another bite of his sandwich and asked, “how come you transferred here? Does your Dad move around a lot for work or something?”

“You could say that.” Dean agreed, “what about you?”

“Same.” The younger teen nodded, in-between bites of food, “my Father is a motivational speaker, and he does series of seminars all over the place. The last couple months we were in Kansas, and Oregon before that. Now we’re here.” Another bite of sandwich and he continued, a little muffled, “he says we’re going to stay here, though, now that I’m old enough to stay home on my own. He says he’ll start travelling for his work instead.” A shrug, “I don’t know if I believe him or not.”

“Your Dad lie to you often?”

Cas sighed. “No, it’s just… I think it’s a stretch. That he’s suddenly decided all this.”

“Mm.” Dean seemed sympathetic, though Cas wasn’t entirely sure why. “Sucks that it’s this school that you’d be stuck at, after everything.”

“That’s what I was thinking yesterday.” Cas admitted, balling up the wrap from his lunch and dropping it back in his bag. Then he hesitated before offering, “but then I met you, and… things got better.”

Dean grinned again. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be good friends, Cas.”

Cas found himself smiling back—and then Dean lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair and Cas’s eyes caught on a tear in the cuff of his jacket. He tilted his head curiously. “What happened to your jacket?”

“Huh?” Dean lowered his arm to peer at the rip. He shrugged. “I don’t even know, honestly, half my stuff has holes in it and I never know where they came from.”

Cas was already digging through his backpack again, and this time came up with a spool of black thread and a needle, much to Dean’s obvious surprise. He waved one hand toward the older boy, “take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”

Of all the ways this lunch hour could have gone, this was not one Dean would have predicted. He looked at Cas almost blankly for a moment, then let his eyes flick down to the other teen’s backpack. It was covered in vibrant patches—a cartoon PB&J sandwich, a pizza box, an LGBTQ flag, angel wings, etc.—all obviously hand-sewn on. And oh. So sewing was a thing with Cas. Okay.

Dean pushed away from the wall just enough to shrug out of his jacket and handed it over, watching curiously as Cas measured out a length of thread, then snapped it off with his teeth, threading the needle and knotting the thread a second later. He was obviously practiced at this particular skill. So was Dean, but for different reasons.

A few minutes of concentration later and Cas was finished with repairing the rip in his jacket, knotting off the thread and snapping it with his teeth again, then tucking the needle and thread away before sheepishly handing the jacket back to Dean.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s much better, right?” He asked almost shyly.

Dean gave him a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks, Cas. It’s great.”

Cas watched him pull his jacket back on, smiling himself now. “I like to sew. It gives me something to do with my hands when I’m feeling… I don’t know. Antsy, I suppose. Like some people play with pencils or fidget toys, I have a needle and thread…”

Dean was inspecting the newly-sewn spot on his cuff, and looked up with a grin, “I play with knives.” He informed Cas, only half-joking.

Cas, not knowing any better, laughed anyway. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… being nice to me. Thanks for this. For… being my friend.”

Dean almost told him he didn’t need to thank him again. Instead he just smiled, almost fond, and said, “you’re welcome, Cas.”

-- --

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell us where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

This was from Charlie, who had one hand clasped to her chest and a positively shocked and scandalized look on her face. The entire thing was an act and Cas knew it, even having only known Charlie for two days. “Charlie.”

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

“Aaaaaand there it is.” Jody drawled. Garth chuckled.

Cas just smiled apologetically. “It’s kind of a secret. I don’t think he wants people to know.”

Charlie pouted, “you just want him all to yourself, that’s what I think.”

Cas coughed and glanced down at the same time as Garth commented, “as if you care. You couldn’t be less interested in Dean Winchester if you tried, Charlie.”

“Not true!” Charlie insisted, “he is, indeed, a mystery that I am interested in solving! Just… not in, like, a romantic sense. Because ew.” Then she paused before adding, “I mean, objectively I can see where you would find him attractive, Cas, but just… no thanks.”

A soft laugh from Cas, faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, Charlie. I’m still not going to tell you.”

The girl heaved a suffering sigh. “You disappoint me, Castiel Novak.”

Again. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“You are not.”

He wasn’t even a little.

-- --

It became habit that Cas met Dean outside the gym every day at lunch and they spent lunch hour behind the bleachers, talking and laughing and becoming better friends, Cas’s minor crush on Dean growing into a huge monster of one very quickly.

Dean never had anything to eat at lunch and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cas, though he had thus far neglected to say anything. But the longer he knew Dean and the more time he spent with the other boy the more it bothered him. He wasn’t bringing anything from home, obviously, and never bought anything from the cafeteria, he just sat through lunch hour watching everyone else eat and going hungry himself, scribbling in a battered notebook that he carried in his inside jacket pocket.

And that didn’t sit right with Cas because some days it was obvious Dean was hungry from the way he watched Cas eat out of the corner of his eye. But why he never had food was probably a sensitive subject and Cas didn’t feel he had the right to ask.

He could, however, do something about it.

So the next time Dean plunked himself down on the ground behind the gym bleachers at lunch time, Cas sat down next to him, then swung his backpack around and fished out not one but two sandwiches, each individually wrapped in cling-film. He blinked at Dean and held one out. “Here.”

Dean just stared at him. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“Feeding you.” Cas stated matter-of-factly, and when Dean didn’t immediately take the offered sandwich, he just set it in the older boy’s lap and returned to his bag, digging out two apples and setting one next to Dean’s sandwich. This was followed by a pair of bottles of water. Then he shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

“But—I—you—this is—”

Cas could sense where this was going. He headed it off at the pass. “It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s as easy to make two sandwiches as it is to make one.” He was already unwrapping his own sandwich, and paused to glance sideways at Dean before taking a bite; “we’re friends and friends help each other out, right?”

“We are, yeah…” Dean continued looking at him rather oddly while he started to eat, like he was having trouble with the idea of someone doing something so nice for him and not wanting anything in return. Eventually, though, he glanced away, as if suddenly shy, and carefully picked up his own sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite right off the bat. He was obviously starving. Once that was chewed and swallowed, he cleared his throat and offered, “uh… thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugged again but gave him a smile. “As long as you don’t mind peanut butter and jelly, I don’t mind sharing with you.”

“…I am not eating the apple. Apples belong in pies.”

The next day Cas started bringing him a fruit cup instead. “It’s close to pie.”

“It’s not even.”

Despite his protests, Dean ate it anyway.

-- --

On top of eating lunch together, it had also quickly become habit for Dean to walk Cas home—mostly because he was very suspicious of James Street and that neighborhood in general, and he didn’t want his only friend to be snatched up by some monster, or even a common-place serial killer. A life of being a Hunter’s son had made him more than a little paranoid when it came to things like that.

Usually Cas made it outside first, and just waited around by one of the retaining walls until Dean emerged from the school a few minutes later, at which point they set out. Cas kept telling Dean he really didn’t need to walk him home, and Dean kept doing it anyway.

Because aside from his paranoia, he really did like Cas, and enjoy spending time with him, possibly too much, really—but walking Cas home also got him away from the crappy motel and his annoying little brother for just a little while longer, which was always a bonus. He was a Hunter, and he had a job to do, his dad drilled that into him all the damn time, but he was also not-quite eighteen and needed distraction every now-and-then.

“You’re quiet.” Dean was always quiet when they were walking down James Street. Cas always tried anyway. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking it’s going to rain.”

Cas glanced up. It was severely overcast, with storm clouds overhead and the humidity was through the roof. Dean was probably right. “Yeah, probably.” He agreed. “Hey, do you want to walk all the way to my house today? I could introduce you to my Father, if he’s in. We could hang out.”

Dean flashed him a little smile. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get home to Sammy.”

‘Sammy’ was Dean’s younger brother, thirteen from what Dean had told him, and attending Bedwin Junior High. Bedwin was Caspar’s affiliated Junior High, so if they were around long enough, Sammy—Sam—would go to Caspar as well. Dean seemed to feel that they wouldn’t be around that long, though, which was… disappointing. Upsetting, even.

Cas was used to moving around, himself, and in the beginning he had been young and hadn’t known better, he had made friends wherever he went, and then inevitably had to leave them behind. When he got a little older, he started purposefully avoiding making friends, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing them.

Now, at Caspar, he had dropped his guard again, and even if his father kept his word and they didn’t move again, and he was able to stay friends with Charlie, Jody and Garth, Dean… he and his brother were in the same boat as Cas had been in previously. So, Cas had gotten to be friends with Dean without even meaning to, gotten close to him, developed a huge crush on him—though he never let it show—and Dean could be leaving any day. It was only a matter of time, really.

Cas had thought that he had hardened himself to the reality of losing friends, considering how he’d grown up, but the thought of Dean taking off just… put a lump in the pit of his stomach. He really had it bad for the older boy, had since Day One, probably, Charlie was right about that much.

But Dean was funny and smart and so attractive, so of course—

Something heavy slammed into Cas’s back right at that moment, the blow cushioned only by the fact that he was wearing his backpack, and Cas yelped out a startled noise even as he tumbled to the ground, landing roughly on the hard pavement.

Whatever had crashed into him was still on top of him—a person, he thought—and scrabbling at him, one hand holding him down by the chest while the other grabbed at his hair and shoved his head to the side. Then they lunged forward and bit into his neck—Cas gave a sharp cry—and abruptly Dean’s voice shouted something unintelligible and he yanked the person off, flinging them away.

When Cas looked up, the person who had attacked him was standing a few feet away, wiping at his mouth and spitting. Dean was between him and Cas and had a huge buck knife in one hand (where had that come from?), holding it at the ready. When the stranger stopped gagging and lunged toward Dean, Dean braced himself and full-body tackled the man, knife flashing—first silver and then red—as he stabbed it into the man over and over again.

After that onslaught, though, and despite being stabbed several times, the stranger wrenched himself away and took off, fleeing into the oncoming storm.

Dean stood where he was for a moment, heaving, before wiping the knife on his jeans and tucking it into the back of his waistband, where Cas assumed it had come from to begin with. Then he hurried back over to Cas and crouched down, hands hovering uselessly. “Shit, Cas, are you okay?”

Cas brought one hand up to the side of his neck where he had been bitten, wiping there before dropping it again to look almost blankly at the blood on his palm. That was about when it started to rain. Dean reached to help him up, and together they got Cas back to his feet. He actually didn’t feel too bad, all things considered.

Dean was already checking out his neck, ignoring the fact that rain was pouring down on them now. “It doesn’t look too bad. It didn’t get you too deep. Could’ve ripped your throat out, you’re lucky.”

“It—what—he bit me—and—you stabbed him and he didn’t even—"

“Cas,” Dean looked him in the eye, deadly serious, and told him firmly, “that was a vampire.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #shut up sena #sena writes #horror high by senashenta

12 notes · View notes