#to be clear i know this song is not just about dean and cas

[strawberrryangel]

angel with a shotgun. woah. just like in destiel.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[clairenatural]

hey sorry to ask you but what is the destiel lamppost thing? if u know what it is

Hi anon!!! I wasn't ignoring you I just wanted to be able to sit down and type out the lore.

So "why lamp"/the destiel lamp thing starts with 15x10, The Heroes' Journey, in which Dean and Sam are stripped of the luck/protections that being written as protagonists gives them by Chuck (very meta) and Dean ends up needing cavities filled.

Garth gives him laughing gas for the procedure, during which Dean has a dream of a black and white 50s style dance sequence. It takes place in the bunker and while initially it's Dean dancing with Garth, eventually Garth leaves and Dean runs over to pick up a lamp from the corner of the room to dance with. Here's the whole thing:

But once it's Dean and the lamp, the dance becomes markedly more romantic - he's dancing with the lamp as a partner, not like the tap dancing he and Garth do side-by-side.

Also important to note that they're dancing to "Let's Misbehave," which is about sex and also was written by Cole Porter, who was gay. This is a really good breakdown of the dance itself, the significance of the song and Cole Porter and its connections to old queer Hollywood.

At the end of the episode, Dean sees Bess and Garth dancing in their living room through the window and says "You know, I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be."

This is pretty clearly associating the dream sequence, and Dean dancing with a lamp, as about Dean longing for a partner and therefore the lamp as a stand-in for that partner.

NOW. Meta was written as soon as this episode aired with people linking the lamp to Cas, and there has continued to be much better meta than I can write here - this one is in-depth and connects it to themes across the seasons and Dean's years-long character arc. "Cas is Lamp" even has its own superwiki page.

But besides all the normal meta deancas reasons and the fact that this comes at a time when Dean's character arc had been building both to him wanting to settle down with someone AND that someone being Cas (this is the episode right after The Trap and Dean's "I should have stopped you/of course I forgive you" prayer), Cas (and angels broadly) is associated with light and lamps throughout the series, perhaps most iconically in 4x16.

So, after 15x18, "the lamp thing" was something frequently cited and that we held onto as another thing they'd dropped alluding to (nay, ensuring - because they'd surely somehow have to wrap up Dean's own arc of wanting a partner to settle down with) a happy deancas endgame where Cas is rescued and they live happily ever after.

And then. 15x20 happened. And "why lamp" took off as part of a long list of "if they were just never going to mention Cas again, let alone resolve the confession or this very key part of Dean's story arc of wanting to settle down, why did they include [long list of things that make no sense with the ending we got]." Why lamp has become shorthand for a long list of missing links and loose ends and things that just don't add up. If deancas wasn't going to be the happy endgame, then why lamp. Why did they drop so many clues and work up to a very clear resolution for Dean's character arc if they were just going to drop it. Why lamp. It's one of those things that will haunt us because we will never get an answer. Okay grandma, let's get you to bed. But why lamp.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  SUMMER’S STELLAR GAZE

SUMMARY : part III of gimme half. on a mini-roadtrip to the bunker for something dean left behind, she decides to test dean’s word and his promises.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit (18+), fluff, Dean isn’t allergic to cats in this universe bc wtf, blowjob, hair pulling, dirty talk, road head, risky business 

WORD COUNT : 2.2k

A/N : silverstein song title. so yeah, I love Dean forever and ever actually, just like I wrote in my diary when I was ten. Omniscient POV to reader’s POV like a good ol’ movie. Xxxxxx

Dean sort of wanted to impress her. 

She was a hunter, like him, after all. 

If he showed her the Bunker, he hoped she'd be impressed; by him, by it, he really hoped so. There was a lot about the Bunker that impressed him when he’d gotten there. The dungeon, the showers, the lore, the garage, the kitchen, everything. That was his first thought when Sam asked Dean for some boxes of the kitchen items he’d left behind since they couldn’t bring everything with them. Dean saw the opportunity to show off. 

The past two weeks went by quickly. They were together now. Shared a New Years kiss at the behest of Eileen, Jack, and even tiny, baby Dean. 

Sam and Eileen were like kids with Barbie and Ken dolls, thrilled to make their favourite couple kiss at last. Cas and Jack were stunned at the discovery that two of them hated each other at first, but they were happy to see that Dean was happy.

It all just came together, somehow, after falling apart so messily. Her and Dean. Their lives.

It was natural for her to be around all of them. Dean forgot that it was him she had a problem with at first. It made it easy for Dean and hard for him all at once. They knew her better than he did and she knew them well, too.

They began bonding over hunting stories when he told Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack that she was also a hunter; she'd ask Cas and Jack a dozen questions whenever she could after finding out they were angels—the other, a nephilim. Sometimes, he’d catch a glimpse at Cas’ phone notifications and see what she asks him with a smile on his face. 

They’ve all been hanging out because of the holidays. She stayed with him during the weekends because he asked her to. He met her family, it was terrifying since they just started… dating… but her family was funny and kind to him. It eased his nerves, but they told him they’d heard of him from other hunters. He knew he was safe, hunters mostly liked him and his brother… except for the parts where they were at fault for all the bad stuff. 

Miracle was happier than ever to have his friend back, her Cat, Bubbles. Dean had a feeling Sam and Jack would take Miracle over to her place or maybe Miracle and Bubbles truly still remembered each other. 

Things are better, hotter now that they are together, more than when they were enemies. Dean was just beyond happy that he had her, that they talked about it… sort of. 

“You listen to the same music as my big brother,” she chuckled from beside him, the box of cassette tapes resting on her lap as she riffled through them. Dean smiled, taking his eyes off the road to gaze at her momentarily. 

“Yeah?” He asked, turning back to the road as they drove into the long, wintry, still-green forest that would lead them to the Bunker. 

“Yeah, I grew up on all of this music. My dad even loves Led Zeppelin,” she told him distractedly, staring at the clear plastic box labelled as Led Zeppelin. She shrugged and inserted the cassette tape into the deck of the car, Bonzo’s Montreux playing softly. 

“You get more and more awesome the more I get to know you,” he told her, biting his lip when he looked over at her. She pursed her lips as she smiled, entertained by his flirty, deep voice and his suggestive wink. 

“Awesome?” She smirked, putting the box back into its place. He turned to look at her once more, but he couldn’t look away from the softness and mischief in her eyes the whole time. 

“Perfect?” He offered, glancing away from her, taking in the big green trees he’s already familiar with. “Kissable? Hotter?” He suggested, smiling coquettishly. “Mmm, extra fuckable?” She looked at him through her lashes, her cheeks pink, and her breath unstable. 

Dean shifted in his seat and sat up straight, looking away from her arousing fuck-me gaze with his fingers tightening around the black steering wheel of his heavy car. Heat flooded the area between her legs at his reaction. Her clit pulsed in pace with her heartbeat and she bit her lip. A million ideas streamed through her mind. A million ideas to relieve the need she had to be fucked by Dean once more. 

The tension in the car was nearly as thick as the first night they had sex, it made her breathless, her heart pounded heavily with lust in her chest, and her pussy squeezed around nothing, instantly remembering the sex they had in his garage before they left.

She placed her hand on his thigh and he inhaled sharply, quickly turning to look at her with a deep blush on his face. Dean relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, and held it with only one hand, to put one of his hands over hers. She bit her lip and watched the side of his gorgeous face as he guided her hand higher. 

She smiled brightly and lifted her hand beneath his to smack his hand away. He chuckled, taking a quick glance over at her playfulness. 

“You said you’d fuck me anywhere, at any time,” she leaned over slightly, placing her arms on top of the seat, and resting her chin on her crossed arms. He glanced at her, exhaling shakily as she held his gaze through her lashes. “You promised me a lot of things, actually,” she moved her hand away, tracing his jaw with her fingers. His eyes fluttered shut. “Dean…” she murmured, moving her fingers up to his lips, and he opened his eyes before he could swerve too far from the road. “I recall a few things you seemed to really like.” 

She leaned forward suddenly, licking his earlobe mischievously. Dean moaned softly, his eyelids heavy with lust, and his eyes clouded over with arousal. 

“Like making me choke on your cock,” she whispered into his ear, dragging her lips down his neck. He groaned softly and shuddered, squirming as he attempted to focus on driving. “I want you in my mouth, Dean,” she purred, sliding her hand down his chest and stomach slowly, “right here, right now.”

“Fuck,” Dean moaned, lifting his hips up into her hand when she cupped his cock over his jeans. She sucked gently at his pulse, making the faded mark on his neck return. “Yes,” he whispered, biting his lip hard. 

“I love when you get hard for me, baby,” she murmured, squeezing his cock. 

“I need you,” he rasped, “I want to see your pretty mouth wrapped around me.” She laughed softly, unbuckling herself from the seat and then him. He chewed on his lip and focusing on driving as he got closer to the Bunker while she unbuckled his belt. He lifted his hips after she unzipped his jeans, allowing her to lower them slightly until his cock was free. 

“You’re aware of how blessed you are, right?” She teased, biting her lip, sliding her fingers up his cock. Dean gasped and then he laughed breathlessly, his dick twitching at her delicate touch. 

“I’m aware of how much you like my dick?” He smiled down at her shyly. She licked her lips, and rolled her eyes at his modesty. She kissed the tip, then gently placed her hand around the base to kiss her way down.

“Have you heard the sounds I make when you fuck me?” She whispered against the velvety skin of his cock. He grunted softly when she flattened her tongue and licked her way back up. “I don’t make those often, by the way,” she said casually, swirling her tongue around the tip. 

“Here I thought you were a good girl,” he breathed out, lowering one hand into her hair, to try and push her down on his cock. She squeezed his cock, jerking her hand up and down quickly, then sucked on the tip hard, causing him to choke on a moan. She pulled away with a loud suckling sound that made him curse under his breath.

“I went over to your place without underwear, and then I asked you to talk dirty as I sucked your dick, and then I begged you to cum inside me. What part of all that made you think I was a good girl?” She lapped the precum that beaded from his tip, her mouth watering at the taste of him. 

“The morning after,” he answered softly, his emerald eyes flickering to hers. She stopped licking his cock momentarily to consider his words, the tenderness in his voice causing her stomach to flutter. It was things like this, his words, his actions… things like that about Dean that aroused her even more. 

She moaned appreciatively, lowering her mouth over his dick, then pulled up almost all the way off, repeating the motion, and then began sucking, and licking. He moaned her name softly, struggling to focus on driving such a heavy car, but she noticed the slower speed. 

She took him deeper into her mouth, gagging slightly when he touched the back of her throat. Dean moaned out a curse, tightening his grip on her hair, pushing her up and down his cock faster. She moaned softly around him, letting him guide her as she sucked her way up his cock, her tongue moving along the underside of his length. Occasionally, her throat constricted around his length as she swallowed. 

His hitched breath made her wetter, throaty groans, and desperate grunts made her clit pulse uncomfortably in her warm dress pants. She reached down to press her fingers against her clit and took him all the way down her throat. His hips bucked upwards and the leather around the wheel squeaked under his tight grip, but he never pulled too roughly on her hair. 

“Holy fuck,” Dean grunted as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock when she got to the leaking tip and sucked the taste of his precum. Then, she began to twist her hand around him, following the path of her mouth up and down, until she heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath the wheels of the car, and the Impala coming to a complete stop. 

Dean relaxed completely as he set the car in park, leaning his head backwards. The sounds of his pleasure and the wet sound of her mouth and throat getting fucked competed for volume. Dean lifted his shirt and gazed down at her, thrusting his hips up faster into her mouth.

She blinked away tears to stare into his eyes, her cheeks and ears burning hot, her jaw and lips sore from taking him. She moaned softly again, letting him push his cock up into her throat, catching the blurred ecstasy on his face. His red lips trapped between white teeth, his freckled cheeks rosy, and his brows furrowed. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he panted, lovingly moving her hair from her pink and wet face. She hummed around him in approval and closed her eyes, focusing on bringing him closer to his climax. Dean’s thrusts began to stutter and he started to get more vocal, arousing her further. “God, I love your mouth,” he whispered, thrusting upwards hard as he came in thick, hot spurts down her throat. “Fuck, yeah,” he moaned, shuddering at the feeling of her swallowing around him. 

Dean pulled her off him despite not finishing, his cum dripping down his cock despite her best efforts to collect everything. That seemed to be the purpose. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with his tongue poking between his teeth, looking both cute and sexy. 

“What?” She asked, and kept tugging at his cock as his cum dribbled down from the slit, and over her hand. She tightened her hold around the heat of him in her wet hand. She bit her wet, swollen lip, and sat up, slowly stopping the strokes of her hand to watch him. 

Dean leaned forward to kiss her all of the sudden, her heart lurching in her chest, the way it always did when he kissed her. He held her jaw, licking her spit and his cum from her lip. He moaned into her mouth, pulling her face closer, meeting her warm tongue with his. She let go of his dick, and smiled against his mouth, before pulling away.

Dean chased her lips, but she pushed his chest roughly so he stayed pressed against the seat, laughing quietly. He smiled leaning forward anyway, his nose brushing against hers, lips agonisingly remaining a few millimetres away from hers. 

“Can we have sex in your old bed?” She whispered, tugging gently at his jacket, her lips brushing against his. He panted against her mouth, whining softly in attempts to make her kiss him. 

“Yes, whatever you want,” he responded quietly. 

She hummed when she kissed Dean once more; a passionate, long, and deep kiss with tongue and teeth that made her needier. She helped readjust him as they made out, a hot and breathy exchange before heading back on the road to the Bunker.

➥ closer than this

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The Great Invasion — Chapter 4

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: aftermath of a panic attack, visions and flashbacks, revisiting character death, being captured. Tell me if I missed something!!!

Series set after Season 15.

Somewhat canon-divergent.

Theme song of the chapter: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

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Chapter 4: Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

The tea wasn’t helping.

Sam had made it with all the care of someone who actually knew how to be nurturing, but at the end of the day, tea was just leaf water, and leaf water wasn’t gonna fix your brain. Not after the absolute trainwreck of a day you’d had.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, fingers curling around the warm mug as you tried — key word being here: tried — to pretend like you weren’t still shaking.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

Except, of course, for the part where you’d had a full-on panic attack in front of half the damn bunker. Cas had been there, Sam, some of the other hunters. All of them wanting to experience the circus. And Dean.

Dean, who had cleared the room like he actually gave a shit.

Like, actually stepped in and made everyone leave. Which was weird. Because yeah, he was protective of his people, but you weren’t his people. Not really. You were the weird outsider with a past so messy it needed its own Netflix docuseries.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there, arms crossed, eyes watching you with that signature Dean Winchester blend of concern and mild irritation.

And then — softly, carefully, quietly, like he was trying not to spook you—

“What did you mean back there? When you said everything you believed was a lie?”

Oh. We’re doing this now.

You took a long sip of your tea — mostly to stall, partly to avoid answering. It tasted like nothing. You stared down at it anyway, willing it to have the answers.

It did not.

“…How much did the others tell you about me?” you asked instead, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be.

Dean exhaled through his nose, tilting his head like he was deciding how much to say. “I know you came from a world that didn’t leave a lot of survivors,” he said finally. “Beyond that? Not much.”

You let out a bitter laugh at that, the sound of it was way harsher than you intended, but you didn’t respond immediately. What the hell was there to say? You weren’t sure you even knew where to begin anymore. There were so many lies tangled in your brain, so many goddamn things that you still didn’t understand about yourself.

“A survivor” you repeated, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Just waited. Which was somehow worse.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug. “I know people despise me here… Hell, I despise myself” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “While they barely survived, somehow, those goddamn demons wiped my ass clean with golden toilet paper.”

That got a reaction. His eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t just survival” you went on, voice bitter. “It was comfort. Luxury. Five-star meals. Silk sheets. A guard outside my door, making sure the wrong demons didn’t bother me. And the whole time, I told myself I wasn’t one of them. That I wasn’t working for them. But the truth is, Dean…”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I was their damn mascot.”

Dean leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t looking at you like he was judging, though. Just… thinking. Processing. “So what changed?” he asked. “When did you start seeing through the crap?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “When I started asking questions.” Your lips curled, the memory stinging. “But even then, Barbas always had answers. He had this whole story. A twisted fairy tale about why demons invaded Earth. About why Rowena was the real monster.”

Dean furrowed his brow, curiosity and concern flashing through his eyes. “What did that bastard tell you?”

You hesitated, because saying it out loud felt stupid. But you forced yourself to anyway.

“He told me Rowena was a tyrant. That she turned Hell into something worse than it had ever been. That she ruled with cruelty and chaos, making even demons suffer under her whims. According to him she was so power-hungry she made Hell unlivable, not just for damned human souls but for demons, too.”

Dean scoffed. A short, disbelieving noise.

But you weren’t done.

“Barbas said the invasion wasn’t about power. It was about survival. That Malgathor and his people were the good guys, fighting to escape Rowena’s reign of terror. He made it sound like Earth was their only chance.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, ugly thing. “And I believed him.”

Dean let out a slow, sharp breath. Ran a hand through his hair like he was physically trying to keep himself from saying something wrong.

“But you’ve met Rowena now” he said. “You know that’s not how it went down.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your face.

“Yeah” you whispered. “Now I know.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence sat heavy between you.

Then—

“Hey” Dean’s voice was softer now. “You’re here. You got out.”

Your breath hitched.

“It’s not that simple” you muttered, shaking your head. “I–I keep getting these flashbacks. Scraps. Pieces. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just— lies Barbas planted in my head. I—” Your voice cracked. “I believed him. For so long.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment again, but something really caught his mind.

Dean’s whole posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his expression hardening.

“That’s what those visions are, aren’t they?” he said, putting the pieces together out loud. “When you freaked out in the war room. When I found you in the storage room.”

You nodded as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked over you, scanning your face like he was looking for signs you were gonna crack again. “What do you see? In those visions?”

You should’ve lied. Should’ve brushed it off. But instead...

“I see Barbas. I see demons. I— I can’t move, and I don’t know why and there’s this awful metallic taste in my mouth, and—”

“Alright, alright, enough” he interrupted, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t… Don’t have to go through that again” He reached out, resting a hand gently on your shoulder, but deep down, something gnawed at him.

If you played the part they wanted you to… why torture you? Why go to all the trouble of breaking you down, only to wipe your memory? Was that just for control? Or was there more?

It didn’t add up. But he didn’t want to press further. He glanced at you again – the way your face twisted in pain, like you were about to break all over again. The last thing he wanted was to push you into another panic attack. Yeah, no way was he pushing that button.

Dean’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. Like he was pulling you back from the edge.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuckery they pulled on you” he said, “but you’re here now. With us. And we’re gonna figure this out.”

“Hey” he said softly, trying to catch your attention. “You want another mug?”

You shook your head.

Dean then stood with a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity like he wanted to fill the silence with anything other than words. He turned toward the door, his hand hovering hesitantly near the knob like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave. 

“Then get some rest” he said and his voice indicated it was an order disguised as a suggestion. “You probably haven’t had a proper sleep in a while.”

His fingers barely brushed the doorknob when you blurted, “Wait” The word came out rough and strained, like it had fought itself up from your chest.

Dean stopped instantly, glancing back at you with a mix of curiosity and caution, like he’d just spotted a landmine on a well-trodden path. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought… you’ll already sneak back into my room–”

“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.

You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”

Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher, and for a second, you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”

“No” you blurted out, the word tumbling out like you’d just been caught swiping the last cookie in the jar. It came out too quickly, too high, and you could practically feel the cringe ripple through your insides. You recovered as best you could, rolling your shoulders and adding, “But you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? So at least this way, I get to pretend it was my idea.”

It was a lie and you knew he sensed it too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that his presence right there in the room was the only thing keeping the creeping panic at bay

Dean stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, no… he was just looking at you. And for one terrible, fleeting second you thought he might actually say no, might leave you in the room to battle your messy thoughts alone.

“Alright” he said after a few agonizingly long seconds. He took a couple of steps back into the room and dragged the chair closer to the bed, leaning back into it. His legs stretched out, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You… sure you’re good there?” you asked, half joking, half genuinely concerned.

His mouth twitched at the corners, and you swore he was fighting off a full-on grin. Instead, he leaned back even more comfortably, folding his arms across his chest, like he was preparing for an impromptu nap. Of course, you knew better and you knew Dean didn’t need sleep.

“Chair’s fine” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m versatile.”

You snorted despite yourself. You settled back into the bed, sinking further into the blankets, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go. Hell, you hadn’t even known what you were doing when you opened your mouth a few minutes ago. But there he was, sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world, and it… it didn’t feel so bad.

“Goodnight” Dean said. “Try to get some sleep.”

The bunker’s library was a warzone of books and exhaustion.

Stacks of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts towered precariously on every available surface, as if daring someone to knock them over. Notes were scattered across the long table, half-finished theories scribbled in frustration. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment, ink, and coffee so stale it could qualify as an eldritch entity.

Sam sat at the head of the table, flipping through a thick, leather-bound text with the focus of a man desperately trying to find a needle in a hell-sized haystack. Castiel stood by the wall, staring at the demonic script with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax codes. 

If he even knew what tax codes were!

Several hunters were sitting around the space, their focus mostly on their respectively assigned books or the method of sneaking out to the toilet without having to come back anytime soon.

But most of them abandoned those attempts. Too much was at stake. 

 “Alright, uh…” Sam said earlier. “We’re looking for something, anything, on Malgathor. His possible lair or residence, his past, his weird demon cult of Hell traditionalists, whatever we can get.” He glanced around at the group, when his eyes landed on the stack of dusty tomes Joe had haphazardly flipped through and abandoned in frustration. “If you’re staring at the pages like that, you’re not gonna find anything. Focus. Please.”

They tried. But there was so much a pack of human could do.

In short, they were suffering.

And Joe was the loudest about it.

“Why the hell are we even doing this?” he groaned, shoving a book away. “Shouldn’t Champ Girl be handling this? I mean, isn’t she, like, the expert on demons?”

Sam sighed. “ “She’s resting. Had a rough afternoon.”

His tone made it clear: don’t push it.

Joe, of course, pushed it. “Must be nice”  he muttered, flipping another page with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced at gunpoint to read. “Getting beauty sleep while the rest of us are inhaling mold spores.”

Before Sam could respond, Inez — who had been quietly working and not being an ass about it — spoke up. “I swear if I have to hear you whine one more time, Joe, I’m gonna make you sleep and it won’t be beauty-related.”

A beat of silence.

Then, from somewhere down the table, a quiet “Oooooh, shit” from one of the other hunters.

Joe grumbled something that sounded vaguely like touchy, but he shut up, which was a Christmas miracle.

It was mind-numbing work but not the kind that lets your brain wander peacefully. No, this was the cognitive equivalent of running a marathon in goddamn flip-flops. The manuscripts the hunters were slogging through were a glorious mess of ancient scribbles, what Joe swore were drunk notes, and indecipherable symbols that looked like someone had sneezed mid-cursive. Some even resembled the result of a writer’s misguided attempt at art therapy. 

The room was filled with collective groans as the group flipped through the relics of some long-dead scholar who clearly had a personal hatred toward future generations… or had a vendetta against user-friendly design. Because fuck these books and myths.

Whoever coined the phrase knowledge is power clearly never met these very pages.

Useless. Absolutely useless.

And then—

“Oh my God.”

Inez practically leapt from her chair, slamming her hands onto the table so hard that one of the precariously balanced book stacks collapsed instantly.

Sam was immediately at her side. “What? Did you find something?”

She nodded so fast her ponytail nearly took flight. “Yeah. Right here—” She jabbed a finger at the text in front of her. “There’s a reference here to a place called the Vale of Ashes. Supposedly it’s a nexus point for higher level demons, a sort of gathering place for when Hell’s elite have business topside. It’s been inactive for centuries, but if Malgathor’s trying to pull something big, it’d make sense for him to use it.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the new information. “The Vale of Ashes… I don’t remember coming across that name before.”

“The Vale of Ashes…” Castiel stepped forward, and repeated the words. “Yes, I heard of that, I think. It’s more than a gathering place. It’s a sanctuary for demons powerful enough to shield themselves from detection, even from angels. If Malgathor’s there, it’s no wonder we’ve struggled to locate him.”

The mood in the room immediately shifted.

No more tired sighs. No more half-assed research.

This was real. This was something.

Joe let out a dramatic groan, flopping back in his chair. “Great. Just fuckin’ great. So, not only do we have to find this place, but we’ve gotta figure out how to break into a demon fortress without getting turned into ash ourselves.”

“Joe” Sam said with the measured tone of a man hanging by a thread. “Either help or get out. Your call.”

Joe put his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”

Sam ignored him, turning back to Inez. “Does the book say where it is? Anything about coordinates, landmarks, anything?”

“Not yet” Inez admitted, though she was already scanning the surrounding pages, her brow furrowed in determination. “But if this book mentions it, there’s a good chance the rest of the details are here somewhere.”

Sam took a step back, nodding. “Alright. This is good. This is the best lead we’ve had.”

The exhaustion in the room was still there, but now it had a different flavor. Less soul-crushing despair, more determined, caffeine-powered focus.

Because for the first time in weeks, they had a real shot at finding Malgathor.

And there was no way in hell they were letting it slip away.

When you woke up, the first thing you did was check the chair.

It was stupid. You knew that. But still… your eyes darted to the chair pulled close to your bedside, like maybe Dean was still there.

He wasn’t.

And that stung a little more than you were willing to admit.

Well. Not totally empty. His jacket was still there. A tangible sign that he hadn’t completely ghosted you — yes, pun intended.

You groggily glanced at the clock. 

7 a.m.? Wait, really? 

You did the math quickly: eight whole hours of sleep. A full night’s rest. 

This was… unprecedented. 

Who even am I? Some kind of… morning person now? you wondered.

For the first time in what felt like forever (okay, two years, to be exact), you hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat, gasping like you’d just outrun a hellhound. None of that today. No nightmares. No panic.

And that? That felt like a goddamn miracle.

You sat up, stretching your limbs with the grace of a middle-aged dad who just realized his alarm doesn’t go off for another 20 minutes. It was a nice change. Maybe you were ready to face the day. Or at least face the weird, slightly claustrophobic town this bunker had created.

As you made your bed like the grown-up you are, pretending to not be in a safehouse, your eyes lingered on the chair again, now with a better angle.  It wasn’t empty and not just because of the jacket. 

A shirt. Freshly folded. Just sitting there, like it was meant for you.

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as you picked it up, slipping it on without a second thought.

Comfortable. A little oversized.

Perfect.

And then came… hunger with an obscenely loud rumble of your stomach. The kind that hits hard, like your stomach suddenly remembered it existed and was personally offended by the lack of food. It grumbled so loud it was probably audible in Heaven.

You sighed. Okay. Food first. Existential dread later.

You ventured toward the kitchen.

But as soon as you got within earshot, you stalled. Voices. Clattering dishes. A full goddamn house.

Great. Awesome. Perfect timing, Y/N.

You hesitated in the doorway, self-doubt creeping in like a bad ex. Déjà vu hit like a truck, this was the war room disaster all over again. You scanned the room and— yep. There he was.

Joe.

Your greatest fan. (Hah, not!)

Breakfast is overrated anyway. 

The great escape was forming in your mind: quick pivot, retreat to your room, and maybe come back when the place was empty. But just as you began to shuffle backward, hoping no one had spotted you, a voice sliced through the awkward air like a hot knife through butter.

“Hey! You coming in or just standing there?” 

The words came from a blonde girl sitting near the center of the room. Her voice was so warm that it made it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear her. You glanced at her direction.

You recognized her immediately: the one who’d yanked you out of a stress-induced spiral in that same war room meeting from earlier that week. Not exactly your favorite memory, but at least she hadn’t treated you like an inconvenience. That earned her some points.

“I swear, if you stand there like a deer in headlights, I’ll drag you in by your ear.”

Well. That wasn’t a threat you felt like testing.

Sighing, you pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, playing it cool like you weren’t just about to run the hell out of there. Inez was already halfway through her coffee when she gestured to the empty seat beside her.

You hesitated.

Then, before your inner coward could talk you out of it, you sat.

She didn’t waste a second, sliding a tray of food across the table to you. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

You blinked at the offering. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Even a full mug of coffee.

Your stomach growled in approval.

“…Uh, thanks.”

She grinned smugly, sipping her own coffee. "No problem. And don't worry, everyone’s too busy with their own melodrama to notice you now. You were new, and yeah, it’s weird at first, but it dies down rather quickly. Well, except for Joe over there. He’s kind of a douche. I’m pretty sure he thinks hello is a hostile interrogation. But I get it, kind of. He’s still adjusting. He got here, what, two weeks ago? But the rest of the crew’s alright."

You could already feel Joe’s eyes drifting your way, the same way a cat stares at something just before knocking it off the table. Nope. Not today. You were out.

You turned back to Inez, and chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.

“I’m Inez, by the way.”

“Y/N” you offered.

“I know” Inez smiled, leaning forward.

You picked up your fork, finally digging in as Inez leaned back, watching you with an expression that was somewhere between amused and thoughtful.

“You know” she said after a beat, “you’re doing better than I did when I first got here.”

You glanced up at her, fork paused mid-air. “...What do you mean?”

“When I showed up here just about a year ago” she began, “I was the first woman to get brought into this bunker. And let me tell you, the guys weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. I got hit with every tired stereotype you can imagine. ‘She’s weak.’ ‘She’s no use’.’’

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or wince. “Ouch.”

“Yeah” she snorted, sipping her coffee, “Then I said I’d handle the groceries for as long as I can.”

You nearly choked on your eggs.“…Groceries?”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yup.”

“Like. Actual groceries?”

“Like running into demon-infested cities and hitting up the local supermarket, yeah. Luckily, they still exist. Apparently, demons care about keeping their humans alive.”

You stared at her. “…You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with way too much satisfaction.

“So you’re telling me—” You gestured vaguely. “You risk your life… for fresh produce?”

Inez smirked. “Either that or we live off canned beans and powdered eggs for a month. And then, well. Probably on each other.”

You blinked. “You say that so casually.”

“Survival, newbie.” She took another sip. “Gotta have priorities.”

“…And that’s how you earned their respect?”

“Pretty much. Turns out, men are very food-motivated. Who knew?”

You let out a laugh. Okay. Yeah. That was oddly impressive.

Then, your brain started piecing something together.

When you first got here, food had just... appeared at your door. Simple stuff — sandwiches, snacks — but someone had been making sure you didn’t starve. You suspected it was Jack or Cas or some other angel playing guardian for you.

But maybe—

You narrowed your eyes at Inez. “…Wait a second. Those sandwiches I got during my first few days here… was that you?”

Inez gave a small, knowing smirk and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty as charged.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope” she said, popping the p with a little too much satisfaction. “It’s kind of a tradition here for me now… helping the new folks settle in. Just a little food delivery service to help you get through the weirdness of being dumped in a bunker full of people who are way more comfortable with guns than small talk.”

“Well…” you said, a genuine smile creeping onto your face, “Thank you, then. You are the reason I didn’t die  first thing here. I wouldn’t have been caught dead coming out.”

Her smirk softened into something warmer. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s gone through it. The bunker has this way of making you feel like you’re the odd one out at first, but again, it passes.”

You nodded, feeling strangely reassured by her words. There was something comforting in knowing that even someone as seemingly self-assured and collected as Inez had faced her own struggles in fitting in.

She stood, stretching a little. “Alright, newbie, I’ll leave you to your thoughts and eggs. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or you’re just in the mood for a romcom that none of us will admit we love, my door’s always open. Room 13A.” She paused, giving you a mischievous look. “And just so you know, I may or may not have a bottle of tequila stashed away. Perks of being the designated grocery runner, you know?”

With a wink, she strolled off — leaving you sitting there with a sight so rare it could’ve been framed:

An actual smile on your face.

The vehemently falling raindrops soaked your jacket, sweeping through your undershirt, bra, making all its way to your skin. Your body trembled uncontrollably and a cruel mix of shivers and sweat plastered your hair to your forehead since the leaky roof of the stable did nothing to shield you from the storm’s fury.

You promised yourself you’d stay right there. By his side. You kept whispering the same lie over and over: he's just sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But no matter how many times you told yourself that, a cold, hollow truth settled in your chest. Deep down, you knew. You knew your father was gone.

Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of stone. You tried to keep them open, tried to look at the man you’d lost, but it was as though your own body was betraying you. The hypothermia was taking over and clouding your mind, making everything blur together.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. You didn’t feel them coming. You didn’t even feel the weight of their presence until it loomed over you, like a shadow swallowing what little light there was left in the world.

A figure smirked, bending down to look at you. His eyes flicked to the silver knife tucked neatly in your pocket, then to your father’s still body. “Master’s gonna be thrilled to see we’ve found two.”

“We can only use the girl, though, Barbas.” Another voice said.

You couldn’t lift your head. Words slurred together, forming an incoherent mess in your foggy mind. You couldn’t grasp the horror of what they were saying. All you could understand was that they were treating you like you were just some... object. Something to use. Just a tool in their hands. A very cold, very shivery tool.

When they finally dragged you up and tossed you onto something that felt surprisingly soft – like a leather car seat, if you had any memories of such luxuries – you only felt the warmth that spread through your body from the AC blasting on high. It was the kind of warmth that didn’t quite reach your soul but was just enough to keep you alive.

And with that, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 5):

Dean glanced at you. “Big Aerosmith fan?”

You nodded, stretching your legs out. “First concert I ever went to.”

That actually got Dean’s attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “No kidding?”

“Nope.” You propped your elbow on the window, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Me and my dad. He got me tickets for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the one who got me into classic rock. We used to listen to it all the time — long drives, fixing up the car, burning food in the kitchen. Just the usual.”

Dean hummed in approval. “Smart man.”

You smirked. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before his expression shifted, like he was debating saying something.

Eventually, he just exhaled and went for it.

“My dad never really took me anywhere.”

You turned to him, his voice so casual it almost sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

But you weren’t stupid.

You noticed that offhanded comment carried more weight than he’d probably admit.

Alright, I KNOW, it took me a while.🥺 Apologies, loves.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!🤍

xx Pam

🤍Series Taglist🤍

@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @artyandink @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @hobby27 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @muhahaha303 @yeehawgiddyup13 @applelovesposts

🤍Jensen Taglist🤍

@roseblue373

[waihtie]

Supernatural is leaving Prime in 2 hours (less by the time I watch and post) so let's fit one more in, my friends. Let's hope this journey doesn't end here.

Season 5 Episode 8 - Changing Channels

Such a good one, too

○ I love the stereotypical sitcom opening

Great laugh track

○ The theme song 😂

○ Their hair colours are so different without a typical spn filter

○ Dean watching Dr. Sexy, MD with that particular facial expression

○ Oh there is a MotW case within this episode

Lady saw the Hulk. The TV show one.

"Hot-head being killed by tv's greatest hot-head"

○ Dean putting it all together that it's the Trickster pretty quickly

Sam doesn't want to kill him

"He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."

Sam is hoping since the Trickster loves a lot of the things that come with humanity, so maybe he'd want to help save it.

Also, so no MotW. Just him since it was TV related.

○ I love the clear Grey's Anatomy ripoff. Hilarious.

"Dr. Wang. Sexy but arrogant heart surgeon"

The ghost patient in the mind of the other doctor

○ Do I really need to comment on the "Dr. Sexy" scene?

I don't think I have a choice. I held off for as long as I could.

The facial expression. The stuttering. The blushing. The slamming against the wall. The noticing of the shoes (like his 2 kinks in one, but the second was missing. Of course he noticed). Him being a fan of Dr. Sexy in general.

"It's a guilty pleasure"

○ The Trickster completely built this world.

Also, I love him so much

(I've been calling him the Trickster, bc that's how we are supposed to know him at this point, but I've seen far enough to know who he really is)

He wants the to play "the game"

○ Sam's character's girlfriend being all dramatic with him lol

○ Dean got shot bc he wouldn't give a guy's wife a face transplant. This is so funny.

Sam has to be a real doctor for him 😂😂

"I need a pen knife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey" lmao

○ Now they're in a Japanese Game Show

Sam got straight clocked in a not-fun area

Cas here to find them 🩷

And he disappeared before he could save them

Sam figured out they have to play their roles in order to go to the next show

Let's hope for Dean's baby-maker's sake he answers the question he doesn't understand correctly

Okay, so now he speaks Japanese

The side-affects of the drug lmao

○ Ou back to the sitcom

○ Cas back again

And of course him and the Trickster know eachother

His face my god

○ The Trickster wants them to play their roles in real life. Aka be the vessels for Michael and Lucifer. Why?

"It can't be stopped. Let's get it over with"

He doesn't like either side

Either they do it, or they stay in "TV Land"

○ Now they're in a procedural cop show

Dean's not happy about it

Lmao the boys acting

They pretend to be FBI all the time. How do they suck so bad at acting everytime?

They killed him. In an absolutely brilliant way. How'd they know?

○ Dean's worried about where Cas is 💔

○ Okay Sam is the car

"I don't think we killed the Trickster"

They figured out he's not a Trickster. And that he's an angel.

○ Sam's turn with a snarky saying

○ Gabe's been hiding from the other angels under the guise of a Trickster

Couldn't handle the family drama. Hates that it's back.

"Why do you think you two are the vessels?"

He's saying they are direct parallels to Michael and Lucifer

And that they always knew it would end with these 2

○ Dean threatening the Archangel Gabriel to get Cas back 🩷

○ "It's about you being too afraid to stand up to your family"

Dean could've left Gabriel there forever, but didn't 🩷

Sometimes, I just love Dean's heart

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Vivace

Chapter Twenty Five

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Bobby, Tiny, Lee, Kevin, Annie, Pamela, Sam, faceless fans and support staff

Word Count: 2900

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, jealousy, grief, musical backstory and hope

A/N: The band played on.

Series Masterlist

You held your breath as Bobby gathered the band backstage. Two dozen roadies, stage crew, and security stilled as he looked past the boys and Pam to their support staff, only Charlie and her team were missing, already in place in the booth. You shivered and waited. Jody’s voice echoed behind the bend thanking the crowd and promising a great show from Phantom Traveler to come. Andy slinked around and continued to snap pictures, despite the glare it earned him anytime Bobby caught the lens pointed toward him. The ragtag group buzzed with excitement and you silently prayed that it would go off without a hitch. 

Finally, Bobby began to speak, “I know a lot of you are nervous about tonight, ‘bout this tour— hell about this band. But it means a lot that y’all signed on for another round of nonsense with these idjits. It means you believe in them, that you’ve got faith they can pull together and get it done. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not a time to worry, because ain't no other band that can do what these guys do. It’s a time to celebrate. Let’s get out there and fuckin’ rock’n’roll.”

Lee hooted and people cheered, you couldn’t help but clap and shriek along. Then everyone crowded in for the circle of hands and chanted “Phaaaaaantom TRAV-ler!”

The band and crew maneuvered in the dark, letting the interim instrumentals keep the crowd distracted as they set up. You scurried back to where you had left Bela in the wings, under Tiny’s care.

“Everything alright?” Bela asked out of the side of her mouth, shifting in place as she tried to clock Dean amongst the many moving shapes.

“Aces,” you replied, bouncing on the balls of your feet as the crowd started to clap with an increasing beat.

You spotted Sam and Kevin’s silhouettes high five and then Lee strummed a teaser chord. Walkie talkies crackled around you as the all clear was called. You kept an earpiece in, but without much left for you to do, you turned it to the lowest setting besides mute. 

It was go time. 

“Bring ‘em up, Charlie,” Bobby prompted over the line and the Forum erupted. 

Lights and wavelengths of sound shot off in every direction and Phantom Traveler took off.

You wouldn’t have stopped yourself from screaming bloody murder even if you had remembered you were directly beside your very posh best friend and her security detail. 

It was happening. They made it back home.

“Good evening Inglewood!” Dean greeted, pointedly accurate. Plus you could tell he was grinning from where you stood, from just the sway of his head and a glimpse of his profile.

There was no other chit chat, no grand speech thanking them for coming out, it was just the band, the music, and the audience.

They started off with ‘Woman in White’, their first major single and something high energy enough to get people out of their seats. Then on to the B side of their first EP, which was a cult favorite called ‘Playthings’ that featured something affectionately referred to as ‘the beat off’ between Sam and Pam.

But at the time it was written, it was played by Sam and Cas.

Pam did it better.

It was like someone was racing up the stairs or against time itself as the two rhythm setting musicians fought for dominance. The crowd ate it up. And you could tell they both were already dripping sweat by the time the song ended and they tuned it back and finally jumped into their last fateful album.

‘Scarecrow’ was haunted and foreboding, reminiscent of early 90s metal that you knew Dean adored. It was also Cas’ favorite track off that entire album. And Kevin killed the bridge as the keyboard turned into an ancient organ chasing the crows away with the dawn. Charlie even added a cackling Vincent Price at the end that couldn’t be topped.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?!” Lee took the words out of Dean’s mouth, which earned him a kick in the ass. They were having a blast up there and it was infectious.

The crowd roared.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Dean bellowed. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’d like to bring somebody out for this next number.”

Shrill ruckus pierced the air, they knew what was coming.

“She’s our very dear friend and we just so happened to convince her to tag along with us this tour. You know her, you love her, please— give a very warm welcome to the incomparable Ms. Annie Hawkins!”

Everyone screamed and stomped, watching as the spotlight followed Annie from the farside of the stage towards the standing mics centerstage.

“Oh, she looks amazing,” Bela spoke for the first time since you’d gotten back. And she wasn’t wrong.

“The girls probably had a blast with her in their dressing room,” you tacked on thoughtfully.

“Her top though,” Bela continued. “I want it.”

You chuckled at Bela’s priorities and quickly got sucked back into what was happening barely thirty feet away.

“You sure you’re ready over there?” Annie teased as Dean adjusted his mic after rushing to set down his guitar.

The crowd laughed in unison.

“I’m ready, do you think they’re ready?” Dean asked coyly, gesturing to the crowd.

All around you camera screens glowed and flashed burst through the darkened arena. Concert security lined the stage and guarded the partitioned areas for the crew and band to navigate the area. Until that moment you really hadn’t been able to pull any single response from the cacophony. You hadn’t been trying anyway. But when Annie goaded Dean a cluster of women in the pit got your attention.

“And here I thought you were out here warming them up for me?” Annie teased.

The crowd loved it, but one catty comment made it feel like you and Bela were right there up on stage with them. “Bela needs to get her man before that cougar gets too cozy up there.”

They eyed your little corner below the VIP suspiciously. You missed whatever Dean said in response, instead watching the women glare and Bela adamantly ignore them in equal measure.

But then the song began. A slow and slinking start reminiscent of Springsteen’s Fire. Which you clocked the first time you heard it, but that was just the intro. The lyrics started up as a quick conversation, a compromise even and then they were harmonizing into the chorus. 

The band hadn’t done many duets, even with such talented singers in their ranks. It wasn’t their style. But this song felt like it had always existed, it was timeless and familiar and really fucking catchy. Annie beamed at Dean when he slipped closer on stage and they belted out the final lines.

It made you feel like they were performing only for you, for their people. It was honest and intimate, but this wasn’t rehearsal or karaoke and the audience would not be forgotten.

Everyone cheered. Even the judgy bitches that kept watching Bela at your side.

Dean hugged Annie and made sure she got the reception she deserved, egging the crowd on and bowing in homage to her talent.

She rolled her eyes, did a snarky curtsy and waved her way back off stage.

“You guys seem to be digging that one. Maybe we could play some more new stuff for y’all tonight?” Lee asked. “I mean— the album isn’t out yet.”

Naturally, the crowd shouted and begged for more.

Bela turned to whisper to you. “They’re not gonna get in trouble for this are they?”

You shook your head. “They’ve got permission to do a few songs until the album is actually out and then they’ll change up the set list to cover more of the new stuff.”

“Got it.”

“Yeah, bootlegs always exist, but this way they’re building excitement but not giving away the farm.”

“Lee!” Dean admonished playfully. 

“What?!” Lee spat back, smirking.

“Sam— tell him.”

Sam shook his head, always stoic on stage.

Dean kept up the ruse. “I don’t know if we should. Pamela?”

Pamela thudded the bass drum and hit the crash. 

“Okay! Pammy’s in— Kevo?” Lee kept the momentum going.

And without any warning or time for Kevin to actually respond, they burst into the opening of 'Prophet and Loss'. 

“I would kill for a drink—- is there somebody we could send to concessions?” Bela asked midsong. And you looked around, wondering if any of the staff could actually leave their posts without getting in trouble. 

You suddenly felt like a bad host. “We’ll get you a box for Vegas. I know this isn’t as fun as it sounds standing for two hours straight.”

“Y/N, I’m fine. Promise.”

“Okay, well I’ll go after the next song. You want anything, Tiny?” you asked your silent companion.

“All good, boss.” He replied and straightened his stance, clasping his hands in front of him.

Kevin silenced the space with the burst of chords at the beginning of his solo, showcasing what Julliard training could do and how rock’n’roll could still be classy as hell. The key changed, turning the mood broken and lamenting as they stumbled into the bridge where Dean pelted out about losing Cas without so much detail.

 Dean let the note hang in the air. “'Prophet and Loss', everybody.”

Whistles filled the air, keeping the mood somber but with enough reception to know that small offering was gratefully accepted.

“Thanks— uh, I, we really appreciate being here tonight and being able to share some of the new album with everybody. But we know you wanna hear the stuff you know, too. So we’re gonna hop back to it and have a kick ass night. How’s that sound?” Dean checked in.

The crowd cheered.

“Did you hear something?” Dean asked Lee jokingly.

The crowd got louder.

“I don’t know if they’re up for much more,” Lee taunted back.

You rolled your eyes and turned to Bela. “Okay, I’ll be back, text me if you think of anything besides drinks.”

The crowd continued to take the bait, howling behind you as you made your way out of the off limit areas and up a side stairway towards the general admission cavern-like hallway. For the first time it felt like all day, you exhaled. Your pass flapped against your chest as you strutted quickly towards the concession area, bypassing the VIP lounge because you didn’t want to get distracted by Madison or any of the mid-level suits that might be milling around.

You could have stolen something from the dressing room, but that wouldn’t have taken nearly as long and you needed some time off of Bela duty tonight. Which made you feel guilty as hell. She was your best friend! She didn’t do anything wrong. And yet you were incredibly frustrated with even the thought of her.

So you waited in line, ordered two extremely overpriced and depressingly weak cocktails, and put them on your expense card. 

The thing about regret is that it isn’t a one time experience. There might have been a moment in the process of you contriving this scenario for Dean’s redemption where you second or third guessed yourself. But the biting sting of seeing him play happy with Bela online and even in person had come at you in waves.

Regret was bearable if it meant it worked, if Dean could have some peace.

But this wasn’t just regret, it was petulance and jealousy and injustice.

Because Bobby had asked all the way back in the beginning, why couldn’t it have been you playing arm candy? And the fact that people could see what you had tried so hard to bury and ignore plain as day, well, it made you feel incredibly small and even more pathetic.

There was no reason for you to be the one at Dean’s side. But damn did you want to be.

And somehow you had managed to keep that from one of the most important people in your life. So it wasn’t just that Bela was getting a part of Dean that you’d never have. Or parts. You shuttered at the thought of where his mouth had been. It was that your best friend hadn’t even clocked the elephant in the room.

Like she didn’t even know you at all.

Or maybe that was on you too. Maybe you hadn’t been honest with yourself until it was too late. How could you put that blame on her too?

You slammed your drink and got back in line for a replacement, not wanting to return with only Bela’s cup like some kind of maid. You could hear the crowd singing along with Lee on ‘A Reaper’s Offering’, a bluesy cut from their second studio album. 

You probably had another two songs before you’d miss anything else new. But you also knew Bela was waiting and the longer the show went on, the more drunk and ballsy random fans could get. You couldn’t leave her with the forever nonplussed Tiny for backup. You smiled at the woman working the bar cart apologetically and ordered another husk of a cocktail.

After another stream of applause, the opening bars of ‘Abandon All Hope’ started and you knew you had to book it. This was Jo’s song, you couldn’t miss it. You never left Dean to get through this one alone. Huffing down the service steps with two drinks in hand in heels was something that you managed only from practice, but you made it in time for the first chorus.

“Oh aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bela murmured to her drink before sipping it and wincing. “It’ll do. Took you long enough,” she teased and winked, hip checking you as you struggled to get your breathing under control as you mouthed along with Dean’s words.

“Trapped by your side with no exit, we had to let you go—”

Bela quickly picked up on your shift in mood and reeled in the playfulness, for which you gave her a grateful glance before turning back to try and lock eyes with Dean on stage.

“Defending that night while trying to give comfort, we should have known—”

“To abandon all hope,” you sang out, the last lyric rising up to hover in the air. 

Dean turned and glanced in your direction and then looked again once he finally saw you. He nodded and tapped his heart and you returned the gesture, you both kept her safe as you could now. He blew a kiss to the ceiling and bowed.

The crowd continued to echo around you, suffocating yet as distant as thunder. 

“Alrighty, folks, we’re gonna take a short break for Sammy to find another shirt and we’ll get you one last sneak peak,” Dean explained. “Kevin? Think you and Pam can keep ‘em busy for me?”

“Aye-aye,” Kevin said and saluted, out of range of his mic stand.

Pam started in with the count and Kevin peeled in down from the upper registers, like he was sliding in from Heaven and crashing a party. The instrumental interlude was a mesmerizing feat of jumping genres and killing time while showcasing just what all each of them could do. But you weren’t even paying attention. Dean made a beeline for the back of the stage and he wound around security until he could find you. 

He gripped the ball of your shoulder and leaned in. “I didn’t see you until the end— had me worried, Trouble!”

He had to talk over the crowd, his back firmly towards the nearest wedge of fans.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!”

He stared at you, sweaty and down to a single layer, earpiece still in his left ear. 

“You’re killing it up there,” Bela said, making you both stop and blink. Dean grinned and pulled her into a hug, a boyfriend hug, arms tight around her waist so her arms can loop around his neck. She even kicked a leg back for balance. 

God was she good.

“You keep an eye on her, okay? She’s gonna need tissues for the next one,” Dean warned playfully down his nose at Bela about you.

She rolled her eyes. “You are a menace on the emotional, aren’t you?”

“All in a day’s work,” Dean shrugged and set her back on her own two feet.

The crackle of a nearby walkie made Dean look around for whoever was sent to find him. “Sam’s looking for you,” an unimpressed lackey of Benny’s pointed out from ten feet away.

“Yeah, I bet he is. Alright, well, see you ladies later— Tiny,” Dean stepped back nodding. He soon disappeared only to hop up on the wing of the stage, grabbing an acoustic and sliding it on.

After the chaos of the crowd dissipated from Pamela’s and Kevin’s antics, Dean and Sam walked on stage and sat down on a pair of stools that had been left out for them. They didn’t look at each other or even the crowd and you knew in that moment that Dean hadn’t been lying. You weren’t gonna survive the next song live with a dry eye.

‘Brothers Keeper’ nearly took down the entire venue. 

Cell phones and lighters blazed in the dark, enraptured space as Dean and Sam sang about each other, about family, and about forgiveness.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

Chapter 27: Polyphony

[megjameswrites]

Decorated my house for Yule today, so have a Christmas Supernatural drabble!

Christmas Sucks Ass

Dean Winchester/reader; Dean Winchester/ original character

Christmas has always sucked for Dean, but this one is a little bit different.

Dean stared at me, eyes hard. “What the fuck is that?”

I blinked. “What- it’s… a Christmas tree?”

“What is it doing here?”

I glanced around the hotel room, where I’d placed the very small and very cheap dollar store tabletop tree on the desk. “It’s… decorating the place?”

Everything I said was coming out as a question, and I hated it. It was the way he was staring at me, like he thought I’d suddenly been possessed by a demon and he had to kill me or something.

One time. It was one time, damn it.

Dean kept staring, clearly waiting for more information. I stared back, waiting for the same.

“Christmas is bullshit,” he finally snapped. “Me and Sammy, we didn’t get happy family holidays.”

“What, and you think I did?” I fired back with a sneer. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a damn tree. Lighten up.”

“Lighten up? Are you-“

I tossed my hands up and interrupted him before he could really get going. “Damn it, Dean! I try to do something nice for you and you have to make it a thing! I had a surprise planned out! With Sam!”

He froze, clearly taken aback. “What?”

I crossed my arms, just as pissed now as he had been when he walked in. “Sam and I. Planned. A surprise for you. Cas helped. But you had to go and pitch a bitch fit, and now we might as well not bother.”

“I found- hello, Dean.”

I sighed as Castiel immediately hid what was in his hands. “Don’t bother. He ruined it. Where’s Sam?”

As if summoned by the power of prayer, Sam flung the door open and kicked it shut, hands full of wrapping paper and tape. “Hey, I got- shit. Dean. Hi.”

Dean glared equally at all three of us. “What are you doing? What did you do?”

Sam looked guilty for some reason, and Cas just seemed confused. I sighed, loudly.

“You always say you hate Christmas-“

“Because it sucks ass.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes at him and he scowled harder. His face would get stuck that way if he wasn’t careful. “You say that, but you’ve been humming Christmas songs since before Thanksgiving. We made a damn surprise. Also, every Christmas did not suck ass. Don’t blame us for you throwing away the one Christmas present you ever cared about.”

Dean flinched, and Sam looked sad. The absence of the amulet around his neck still hurt, and I’d made my point. Now I gestured to Cass, and he handed me what I’d hoped like hell he’d be able to find.

“It isn’t the same one,” I said quietly. I held out the amulet, similar but in silver instead of gold. “But we found this. Look at the back.”

Dean took it, looking like someone had hit him right between the eyes with a baseball bat, and flipped it over. On the back were our initials- mine, Sam’s, Cass’, Bobby’s, Ellen’s, Jo’s. John and Mary’s.

“We couldn’t fit names, but we got the initials in. You’ll know what it means, and we’ll all be close to your heart.” I finished speaking without looking at him, my cheeks burning.

“No chick flick moments,” Dean muttered.

“Sure,” I agreed more casually than I meant. “Whatever you say, Winchester.”

The colored lights caught on the pendant as he lifted it to put around his neck. “Christmas still sucks ass,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “You guys don’t, though.”

[gaysie]

1 and 15 <3

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

YESS i love this question im inspired by so many things all my work is just a pasted together cobble of references. a lot of my fics are inspired by songs - i think i was crying listening to i know a place we can go over the summer and just seeing so vividly hopeful young twinky daniel at the gay club seeing bloodied armand without knowing who he is/ "somebody hurt you/but you're here by my side" and that's where this one came from ...

people made jokes about love because sometimes it was funny was inspired by that line from the haunting of hill house novel, one of my absolute favorites and i'm obsessed with the tension between eleanor and theodora and how that line is perfectly situated to show how it feels to have someone you're in unrequited love with make jokes about how desirable you are. and also crossed with watching queer and liking it but also not finding daniel craig attractive in the slightest so to pass the time i was imagining eric and assad #sorry

let gravity be my sculptor is so many things! first off "incomprehensible" by big thief where the title comes from - these lyrics knocked me on my ass the first time i heard them and i really wanted to do an armand/daniel aging complex fic. how can beauty that is living be anything but true..

also, this was my first time really attempting to do a multichapter fic, and before i started i was thinking of some of my favorites and the tone i wanted to emulate. and like i didn't get anywhere close but empty spaces by schmerzling was at the top of the list - the dean supernatural eating disorder fic that went triple platinum on my browser history when i was 20 - and that fic was a big influence, not just the ed component but the kind of roadmap for build up and emotional release and characters imperfectly taking care of each other. again nowhere near close, this is me telling everyone to go read empty spaces and sob when cas pulls him out of the damn basement and tells him desperately about the house they're going to live in together

also for lgbms - when i started writing i had two scenes really clear in my head - a) dead-eyed human armand killing the boys almost blankly and b) dissociatively working himself in front of the camera for the clients. and i only realized after the fact that i was subconsciously inspired by anne bonny's plot in black sails s2, where she's left behind by jack and not allowed to be a pirate and kind of blankly floating through life as max's guest at the brothel, and goes upstairs with one of the men who thinks she's one of the whores. and a little bit later on (or was it before i can't remember) when she loses it and stabs and murders one of the girls and her john and max finds her and takes care of her. those scenes are so heartbreaking and compelling and i think armand's similar unmoored loss of identity after losing his vampirism and history of sexual abuse and violence bubbling up to the surface was a strong parallel in my mind

15. Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

ahh horror is so hard... also really plot-heavy things, or really dialogue-heavy fics, some people just have a gift for that but it's never been my strong suit, man i could list everything which is why im just an amateur doing it for fun but! i want to keep challenging myself to try more different things even though i know i fall back on like. "character A thinks they're unlovable but B is going to show them they're not!" type saccharine tenderness in like all of my fics hahaha

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Satanic panic: 8 Oct. Suptober

"Okay. Okay, here's the thing," Sam said, clearly struggling to keep his volume low and still be heard over the milling police, sounds of a crowd cheering on the other side of the venue's stage, and the weeping wailings of several nearby… 

Castiel wasn't sure what they were. Leather-bound, pentagram-tattooed lizard people? The rest of the band, he was given to understand.

Sam continued, "Satanic panic, 1980s style? Fake news. Never proven. All the pearl clutching and accusations about ritualistic satanic sacrifices and abuses, totally unsubstantiated. At best, you could say, yes, people did panic, but wholly without cause."

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Now, this so-called death metal – Satan metal – band is on its fifth lead singer in five years."

"Right."

"Except they've all been the same guy."

"I thought the first one was different," Castiel interjected.

Both brothers shook their heads. "Same guy," Dean said. "Different, y'know, whatta you call 'em." He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "Vestments." 

"Vestments, names, personas, et cetera," Sam huffed. "Different positions in the larger cult."

"Only it's not really a cult?" Castiel was having a hard time keeping up.

"Right, it's all phony." Dean rolled his eyes; he'd been loudly vocal, earlier, about his distaste for this particular band.

Castiel asked, "Is it important that all of the lead singers were only one man?" 

Sam gave a grin like a grimace emoji. (Castiel liked sending texts with that one.) "It's relevant, possibly, because part of the lore – the storyline – of the band was that every lead singer was 'replaced'." He made finger quotes. "Which is to say, 'murdered'." 

"But it was just the one man changing costumes," Castiel deduced. "That's somewhat clever."

"Some people think so." Dean looked askance at Sam.

"Several of their songs are great, pointedly political commentaries about the corruption of modern life and the downfall of empires," Sam said, in a tone that indicated the debate with Dean was ongoing.

"It's a shame then," Castiel said, squatting to pull the bloody sheet down from the face of the corpse sprawled halfway out of the dressing room doorway, "that the lead singer seems to be literally dead this time."

He didn't have to ask why this case warranted the Winchester's skillset. The singer's eyes were burned clear out of his head.

He looked up at Dean and Dean nodded, grimly.

-

"What are you reading?" Dean manhandled Cas enough to be able to crawl into bed behind him, his thighs bracketing Cas's hips. As it was one of Dean's usual nighttime routines, Cas allowed the interruption without complaint.

"In this story, apparently we're investigating the killing of a famous singer who leads a made-up satanic cult." Cas showed him the screen of the old tablet Sam had given him. 

"Pretty sure most satanic cults are made up," Dean said, hooking his chin over Cas's shoulder. "And I'm sayin' that even though I've met actual Satan."

"Throughout the ages there've been more than a few cults dedicated to Lucifer," Cas admitted. "But most of them didn't really know who they were worshiping, and certainly not in any way that would've been useful to Lucifer."

"I guess that's comforting to hear," Dean muttered. He coughed into Cas's shoulder. "Hey. We get up to anything sexy in that story?"

"Hmm." Cas scrolled back up to the top of the first chapter. "It's rated General Audiences."

"Ah," Dean said, his fingers tickling up Cas's ribs while Cas turned in his arms. "Guess we'll have to write our own fic."

[autisticandroids]

15, 21, 23?

15. something you learned this year

i don't know if i can say i learned a new skill as such. but one thing is like... i really enjoyed making three card stud. and it really opened my eyes to like, how much of what i like about the practice of fanfiction is the meticulous remixing/reinterpretation of canon. there's a way in which the AMV is a more... analytical art form than the fanfic, because you are literally forced by the constraints of the medium to keep to the text. all you have are song lyrics and the kuleshov effect to convince your audience to take the new meaning you intend to convey from stuff already in the show. and i brought that ethos to three card stud even though i did add stuff. in a lot of ways three card stud was just me listing off things from canon i think a lot about and saying eh? eh? like. hoping the context would make it clear *why* this stuff makes me crazy. and i think that was a lot of the motivation behind the fic i'm currently working on, which is about dean and cas getting caught by the police. that fic at this point is mostly lists of things that have happened in spn episodes, placed in a new context by baffled feds and cops. which is the fun part. so like basically i learned that this is really fun, listing off canon facts in a new context

21. most memorable comment/review

so the most memorable traditional comment as such i got was probably this one, on i fold in half so easily (ifihse tends to generate the best comments because it's extremely dark without the ways in which it is dark being obviously flagged. so people are more shocked and more forced to think). "Cas: no officer i am very happy please dont tell dean im emotionally complex" is so funny and true that's literally what happens in that fic.

another top contender is this one, on getting serious, which generates good comments for the same reason ifihse does, though it's a lot less intense.

but in terms of my favorite *response to my work,* it was the breastfeeding anon saga (in chronological order here) which was a response to my fic smorgasbord.

and then i wrote a fic based on those anons, and then i got these very funny tags on my fic post:

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

when i tell you about the 120k deanvictor fic which is literally 90k of victor henriksen hunting down a serial killer dean winchester while becoming a little (sexually) obsessed with him and then 30k of victor knowing about the supernatural and moonlighting as a hunter while he and dean suck each others dicks so much.

and also it's about victor's relationship with his two ex wives and his former stepdaughter who he is still emotionally a parent to even though they have no legal relationship and the coworker he had an emotional affair with who he doesn't speak to anymore and how he feels trapped in his life and his job and dean represents this escape for him this total freedom. just living in his car on the road and not having to worry about what your boss thinks or needing to quit smoking. while for dean victor represents this stability and adulthood dean can never achieve. and dean leaves three spare pairs of underwear in victor's divorcé bachelor pad as a kind of little... fantasy. of what life could be like.

anyway the most compelling scene from that, IN MY MIND, is a scene where victor STILL thinks dean is a serial killer. and now he has him in custody. and against his will he's... charmed. by dean. because dean is charming and pathetic, shaking and sweating from mild alcohol withdrawal but still cracking jokes and being friendly and observant and extremely young-feeling, for 28. and earnest in a way he didn't expect. and they're forced to work together against a demon siege, a spin on jus in bello where victor still doesn't find out about the supernatural he's just protecting himself and a prisoner from a threat. and he has the uncomfortable realization that he's attracted to dean winchester (serial killer) (guy he is trying to take down) (has killed so so many people). and he's like well. we can table that for later. and then dean escapes.

so i've been trying to figure out a way to scoop out just that scene and turn it into its own fic because that's actually manageable for me.

the dean and cas pursued by the cops idea also comes a bit from frustration that i can't write this, though the feds in that one are ocs bc it's later.

from here

[winchester-reload]

I saw some asks talking about destiel songs and ... I THINK IT MIGHT BE BECAUSE I CAN RELATE ALMOST EVERYTHING TO DEAN AND CAS BUT, for me, Hozier - Francesca is such a destiel song ...

Oh, I know. One thing I really love about the ship is that you can see it in every song, art, poem, and dream.

But to be clear, I never asked for destiel song recs hahaha (however, excellent choice. Hozier's Francesca is delicious. I also have another person @carhengeapocalypse who suggested Orville Peck's Drive Me, Crazy, which is also an excellent song I've listened to many times. And to which I will suggest Let Me Drown, by Mr. Orville Peck. His live version is LIFE. (seriously, if you need me I'm probably listening to this live Nashville version of the song.)

Not to say any of the other suggestions in my inbox are bad ones, I just haven't listened to the songs. So thank you , fam for sharing your music love with me <3

[blacknidstang]

4 and 8 for the discourse asks ❤️

Hello my beloved 💕

4) meg!sam or lucifer!sam

HOW DO I ANSWER THIS EVEN HOW. I think Jared's acting with Meg was just... Phenomenal truly. Mindblowing performance from such amazing amazing episode. But i think personally i choose Luciter Sam. There's certain beauty, elegance and grace to his Lucifer that sometimes take my breath away. And we don't see a lot truly but sometimes, even a tiniest moment can leave a mark on you. Like this one short scene from Proverbs that had me screaming MY WIFE, MY BRIDE, MY BEAUTY, MY LOVE.. just... Just look at him i am i feel WEAK

8) How should the afterlife have been “resolved”? Did the fixing of Heaven work?

Bdjdudwij i cannot believe you're asking me this when you're fully aware i think Dean is just a prisoner in his isolated heaven and all of that is a illusion. :/ Obviously the writers were held at gun point to make it LOOK LIKE Dean is in heaven waiting for SAM instead of being happy with Cas but they dropped hints all along that this is just an unreal Chuck-made heaven. If you reverse the second Carry On song, invert the waves and subtract the frequency from the first version you will be able to find the morse code to the actual truth of the finale. Hope that clears thing up.

Ok petty jokes aside i actually just realized, it doesn't matter bc it is a win-win thing for us.

IF it had not worked & Chuck has won then ya know, Sam & Dean share one heaven and as long as they are together, according to that certain post, THEY WON'T EVEN REALIZE CHUCK HAS WON. Like it's genuinely funny that the claim turned out to be even more of a samdean soulmatism proof

But if it has worked and heaven is fixed (which i genuinely think is the answer bc it matters so much to me that they fucked god over and raised new one just so they could be free and happy together) then the rest is history. So even if there's nothing i exactly can say for sure, i wholeheartedly think sam & dean are each others heaven and thats all that matters.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to particularly rant about that one thing <3

Spn discourse asks

[typicalopposite]

writing prompts? i gotchu

destiel but cas works in a reptile shop and they meet because his burmese python escaped and was sitting in the sun by the window

I am so sorry this took so long! I kept getting TOO into it and trying to make it a full length fic! (which may still happen one day! lol) but here you go :) hope you like it!

So there are three things everyone in town knows about Rainbow Reptiles: 1.) It is run by Castiel Novak (quiet guy, very awkward, but still friendly). 2.) On Wednesday’s the store closes for an hour so Castiel can clean Lilith’s enclosure . 3.) Lilith is Castiel’s Burmese Python. (She is jet black, 18 years old, and 18 feet long, and as big around as a basketball)

~~~

Castiel is in the backroom, earbuds in and blaring, humming along to the song that’s playing while he cleans out his bucket one last time. He’s nearing the end of his allotted hour—it easily takes the entire hour for him to get Lilith’s home completely clean. The massive enclosure sits in the middle of his store, and stretches from the floor to the skylight; it gives her plenty of natural light to keep her warm, and plenty of room to stretch out her entire 18 feet over the branches of her equally massive artificial tree. 

When he is finally done—cleaning supplies are put up and Lilith’s cage looks brand new—he goes to the 60 gallon storage bin he has to keep her in during the hour. “Oh— oh not again…” he groans, when he sees the lid sitting askew atop the bin. He pauses his music to get his head clear before he starts to panic search for her… and that’s when he hears the screaming. 

Very deep, guttural, screaming of pure panic. 

“Dean come on, it's not even moving,” an unfamiliar voice laughs. 

“Yet, Sam… It’s not moving yet! We need to get the hell out of here before it starts!”

Castiel steps out into his shop. Towering over the shelves is a man Castiel assumes must be Sam; on his back, with his limbs wrapped awkwardly around Sam’s body, is Dean. 

In the store's front window—which sits directly beside the front door—stretched out almost to her full 18 feet, sunbathing in the mid-summer heat without a care in the world of the complete panic going next to her, is Lilith. 

“Can I help you two?” Castiel asks, unsure if he is more annoyed they are in his closed store, or amused at what he is seeing. 

“Wh- what the hell man!” Dean yelps, when he notices Castiel. “You just let that— that— that… roam freely in here!?” 

“That is actually a she,” Castiel says. He crosses the store to Lilith and begins to lift her up. “And she is Burmese Python.” 

“Cool… so you just let your Burmese Python roam around your store?” Dean reiterates, sarcastically. 

“No,” Castiel deadpans, continuing to hoist Lilith up from the window sill. “I keep her in a bin while I clean her cage… but she has been known to get out, that’s why I close the store.” 

“If you’re closed, why was the door unlocked?” 

Castiel sighs; “The lock is broken. But there is a closed sign… did you not see it?” 

“Maybe if it was put where it was easier to see,” Dean snaps back.

“It’s on the front of the door.”

“Can you please get off of me…” Sam interrupts. Dean lingers a moment longer—until Castiel finally has Lilith around his shoulders—then he grunts as he drops to the floor and shakes out his own shoulders, straightening out his worn leather jacket in the process. Castiel blinks. Now that he is no longer contorted around Sam’s body, Castiel can finally get a good look at him. He’s— very handsome… for starters. Castiel feels heat rush to his cheeks. He is vaguely aware he’s staring… but he can’t seem to snap himself out of it. “Uh, anyway, sorry to bother you—I’m Sam… this is Dean. We just opened up next door.”

“Oh, the pawn shop,” Castiel replies; Sam nods, and holds out his hand to Castiel. “Castiel,” he says, shaking Sam’s hand, then turning to do the same with Dean.

“Y- You mind putting it— er, her—your anaconda up… first?” Dean asks, putting some more space between himself and Castiel (and Lilith). 

“Python,” Castiel corrects. “And my apologies for the scare,” he adds, walking Lilith into her cage. She slithers up onto a brand from Castiel’s shoulders and lowers her head to look out at Dean; he cringes and takes another step back. 

“Well, it was good to meet you Cas,” Dean says, finally willing to shake his hand. “Not so much you,” he says to Lilith who inches forward, causing him to give a small leap back. “You should really get that lock fixed, before she decides to break free and go paint the town… or eat the town.”

“The lock is broken, Dean. Not the handle… she can not open the door,” Castiel sighs. 

Dean laughs—not that Castiel was trying to be funny— and nudges Sam towards the door. “Right. Anyway, we’ll see you around?” 

“We are neighbors now, so yes,” Castiel smiles, and waves at them as they continue out the door. “I’ll see you around.” 

it feels like it ends a little weird but again I kept dragging it out into a longer fic and I wanted to get it done so I could post it for you! :)

[alphabetquest]

FAQs

Who is running this thing?

Hi, it’s me 👋🏻. @princessmisery666

What is the prompt schedule?

Sign-up opens on May 29, 2024, and will close on August 29, 2024

Prompts will be posted on the first of each month beginning September 1, 2024. 

Prompts can be filled and posted at any time. Submissions for a prompt can be made within a different month than the prompt was posted.

There is no deadline for submissions.

Cut-off to be included in the prize draw is May 31, 2025.  

Do I have to sign up for the challenge?

Yes, if you want your work reblogged to the @alphabetquest blog and my main blog. We all know Tumblr’s tags aren’t the best so something could be missed. I need to know which blogs to check.

Can I use a prompt from a different month?

Yes, once a prompt is posted, you can use it whenever inspiration strikes. However, please give credit and tag the blog. 

What characters can I write for? 

Here is the list of characters/fandoms that can be used for this challenge. If it’s not listed, just ASK. 

What other characters can I include?

Reader inserts, OCs, and crossovers are all welcome.

What kind of prompts will there be? 

Prompts are open to interpretation, but please feel free to ask if you are unsure of a prompt’s meaning or its spirit of intent.

Quotes and song lyrics quoted - should not be amended

Songs - use all or part (e.g., lyrics used as dialogue, soundtrack for fan video, or art based on the song’s vibe). Using the song title as the title of your piece is fine, but the content also needs to connect to the song in some way.

AUs, kinks, single-word prompts, etc. - use as you’d like based on the guidelines.

Can my creation include ships?

Yes. Except for m/m. Ships such as the following will not be accepted: 

Stucky (MCU) 

Bucky/Buck (Masters Of The Air) 

Hangman/Rooster, Hangman/Bob, Maverick/Rooster, Rooster/Bob, Hangman/Coyote, Maverick/Hangman (Top Gun Maverick)

Eddie/Buck (9-1-1)

Wincest, Dean/Cas, Sam/Cas, Sam/Lucifer, Dean/Benny. (Supernatural)

If you have a question about a ship’s eligibility, just ASK.

What types of prompts will be posted?

Tropes, songs, lyrics, dialogue, and random words. Each letter will have 9 prompts. For example, A will have 3 songs, 3 dialogue, and 3 tropes.

Does the relationship of the main character(s) have to be romantic?

No. Platonic, gender-neutral, sibling, and parental relationships are also acceptable.

Can I combine prompts?

Yes, but each one must be easily identifiable within the works. 

Can I combine a prompt with another bingo/challenge?

Yes, if the other bingo/challenge allows it too. Please make the prompt easy to find, such as by putting it in the Author's Notes. It needs to be clear, or it will not be accepted.

Are crossovers allowed?

Yes. But one of the listed fandoms/characters must be the main feature of the work.

Can I use the same prompt multiple times?

Yes, as long as the fic follows all the other rules and it's not a duplicate fic with the slight changes e.g. character changed.

Can I use the prompts in a chapter of an existing fic?

Yes, as long as the fic follows all the other rules.

How do I submit my work?

All creations must include @alphabetquest in the Author’s Notes. Use the hashtag #AlphabetQuestsSubmission in the first five tags. You can also submit the post’s link to the submission channel in Discord.

Where will my posts be reblogged?

Submissions will be reblogged to the @alphabetquest blog within a week. If you do not see your post reblogged within a week, don't hesitate to contact the @alphabetquest mod on the Discord server or ask in the @alphabetquest DMs. I will also reblog on my main blog (@princessmisery666), but I have a queue set up so it may be more than a week.

If you have any questions that haven’t been covered, please ASK. 

[cavebaby2]

Yall remember that episode (I don’t think I even have to state which one, but just to be sure, s5 ep13, “The Song Remains the Same”) where Dean and Sam go back in time to locate Mary and John ends up being there too?

Anywho, can I just blab about when the door opens and they see, not just Mary, but John too?

I’m gonna blab anyway.

Like Sam and Dean and the insane differences between their reactions is something I (way too often) think about. Like on one end there’s Sam, who like immediately loosens. If I remember correctly, that is, he literally kind of deflates. I mean yes, he’s seeing his mother who he doesn’t even have memories of because he was so young, albeit before she had him or Dean, and that probably has something to do with it. But that’s also the difference I’m talking about. He probably see’s both of his parents, happy and youthful and is seeing them before one was gone and one was lost, and is just taking it all in. He sees his dad in a way he hasn’t ever seen him, clear headed, smiling, without a bottle in hand or without a case to send Dean on or tow them around for. He just see’s that John, not John after he lost Mary. He sees a dad who hasn’t done any wrong yet, a dad who didn’t make him feel like he had to run off. He’s relaxed, he’s loose; he’s probably shocked and slightly excited. Maybe he has a lapse and gets a little upset, but it’s short lived. Plus, Sam hasn’t ever really seen John as his worst, truthfully. Dean probably took care of all of that hard stuff; pulling John into the couch after another bender, rolling him on his side just incase he decides to choke on his puke. Dean also, most likely at least imo, always took the brunt of his father’s anger or short temperament, just for the sake of Sam being allowed to have as much of a normal childhood as he could.

Then there’s Dean:

The moment that door opens and he see’s John, he straitens his back and puffs out his chest and ducks his chin, like a soldier is taught to do, and presents himself as strongly and as uniformly as he can. He doesn’t give himself time to say Hello to Mary, can’t do so without subconsciously seeking an appraising look or a nod, or a wave of a hand; he wants to be dismissed, wants to be acknowledged as he used to be, as a good soldier with a good masculine stance, to be cleared. It’s an immediate movement, a learned flip of a switch. Its muscle memory, to present as something solid. Perhaps to be saved from a harsh stare or an emasculating retort. He needs to be as John as conditioned him. Unlike Sam, Dean has seen Mary before. He’s gotten to know her more throughout the times some random angel or even Cas shot him back here, but it’s still his mother. The mother who he lost, the one who ruined his father, and he still doesn’t allow himself to greet her when in the presence of John.

… when I start doing this I know I’m relapsing on writing another unpublished fic.