#turns out sam just threw up demon blood

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

��I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[ninii-winchester]

Dusk till Dawn

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.7k

Warnings : angst, violence demon dean, language, illusions to sex (nothing explicit)

Part 2 to I don’t wanna live forever

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

But you'll never be alone

I'll be with you from dusk till dawn

Baby, I'm right here

Sam had finally managed to track down Dean and has brought him back to the Bunker. Y/n wasn't scared of him but she wasn't excited to see him again in his demon form either. Sam had Dean cuffed inside the dungeon and she could hear him scream every time Sam injected him with human blood.

She knew she'd have to face him sooner or later, so two hours later, she decided that she'd go see him. She entered the dungeon and she watched as Dean thrashed around in the chair he was tied to, he spewed hurtful words at Sam and the latter retorted by telling him this isn't his brother speaking.

Dean eyes landed on Y/n as she walked inside, her arm still in a cast. He turned his eyes black before turning them back to normal. He threw her a smirk and she visibly tensed. She knew he was tied and Sam was in the room as well but she couldn't help but shrink under his gaze.

"How's the arm?" He mocked.

"I'll live." She replied curtly. He laughed evilly before speaking again.

"Hm I wonder why Crowley saved you, were you fucking him? I mean you do look like a skank.." She felt herself tear up at his harsh comment, this isn't my Dean she kept repeating to herself. "I mean I wouldn't put it past you-"

"Dean shut up." Sam intervened.

"What you fucking her too?" Dean cackled. "Cmon Sammy you can do bette- argh" Dean growled loudly as Sam interrupted him by giving him another shot. He groaned breathing heavily.

Y/n felt her heart thudding inside her chest, she wondered if part of Dean actually thought all those things, how long can she hold on and believe that this is the demon talking. Sam noticed the apprehension on her face and pulled her outside.

"Hey..you can't let him get to you, that's not Dean." Sam said holding her good arm. "He's trying to rile you up, don't fall for it."

"Yeah..!" She nodded her head, seemingly out of it. "Yeah I know Sam." She snapped herself back.

Four hours later Y/n was in the kitchen when she heard it, Dean's voice. But it wasn't him groaning or screaming, it wasn't coming from the dungeon either. It was closer. She ducked and ran out of the kitchen hoping to find Sam before Dean finds either of them.

Dean continued to call out for Sam, asking him to come out and talk with his big brother, his voice was scaring the wits out of her and she hoped she doesn't run into him. But just because she's so lucky she rounded a corner and saw him. Dean stood right in front on her with a hammer in his hand.

"Well hello there, sweetheart." Dean smirked. She backed away and he took a step forward. Suddenly the power in the bunker went out and the emergency lights were turned on. "That's smart little brother, locking the place down." Dean yelled. "But you see I don't want to leave." Well at least now she knows where's Sam. But the control room is a bit too far from where they were and she's on her own here. "You're gonna have to wait for me, Sammy. I gotta finish what I couldn't last time."

Y/n knew there's no point running, so she did what she thought was the best. She moved towards him. Dean glared at her before grabbing her hair and slamming her in the wall. A smirk plastered on her face. "You can go ahead and kill me, but just so you know, Sam's gonna cure you. He won't stop until he does." She prayed that Sam finds them soom or it's gonna get ugly pretty fast.

"I can see right through your brave girl act." Dean sneered. "This is gonna be so much fun." Dean grabbed her injured arm and pressed hard making her scream.

Dean let her go and held the hammer with both his hands, he raised it above his head and Y/n braced herself for the impact but it never came. Sam had tackled Dean to the ground, the hammer falling from his hands. Dean struggled in Sam's hold. "Let me go." He growled slamming Sam into the ground. Thankfully Castiel appeared and caught hold of Dean.

The two men hauled him back to the dungeon and Sam completed the ritual. Dean was finally back. Sam threw holy water on his face and the lack of sizzling flesh brought relief to Sam and Cas' face. "Welcome back, Dean." Sam said with smile. Dean's face flashed an array of expressions, but he was happy to be back.

While Sam helped Dean get back to his room, Cas found Y/n in the same hallway they had left her in.

"Cas?" She groaned holding her arm, slumped against the wall. Castiel kneeled in front of her, he placed his hand on her arm and eradicated the pain. "Cas, Dean-"

"He's not a demon anymore." Castiel informed and she sighed in relief. He nodded and helped her up. The two of them went to the library. Sam was hyper excited that his brother was back and he told them he's going to bring his brother lots of cheeseburgers now that's he's hungry again. Y/n's smiled dropped when Cas mentioned the elephant in the room, that Dean still has the mark.

"One thing at a time Cas." She replied before leaving the library.

Cause I wanna touch you, baby

And I wanna feel you too

I wanna see the sun rise on your sins

Just me and you

To think everything would go back to normal after Dean was cured was wishful thinking on Y/n's part. She hasn't seen him ever since he turned back. He's been avoiding her. She knows he feels guilty and is beating himself up for whatever happened but she needs him to know that she forgave him because it wasn't him.

Y/n was in the kitchen, her hand wrapped around a steaming cup coffee. She was lost in thought but she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. Dean entered the kitchen, stopping mid way as he noticed her figure and turned back to leave. But her voice stopped him.

"How long are you planning to continue this?" She asked, her voice filled with hurt. He didn't turn back or answer her question. She has had enough of him ignoring, she moved to grab his hand and turn him towards her. "Talk to me, please." A tear dropped down her cheek as she looked at his face while he looked at the ground avoiding eye contact.

Dean gently shrugged her hand off his arm, he wanted to reach out and wipe that tear off her face but he was scared to touch her, afraid to hurt her or worse break her. He has already done enough and he'd be damned if he does it again. She lifted his chin with her fingers to make him look at her and he relished in her touch. Her face was healed but a few scratches were visible and he felt nauseous knowing he did that.

"I hurt you." Dean spoke for the first time. She shook her head.

"It wasn't you."

"It was me, those were my hands on you, I hurt you physically and emotionally. I said those vile words to you, about you. It was me. But none of it was true, you’re not- " He couldn’t continue further. A few tears escaped his eyes.

"I forgive you, Dean. I love you." She said cupping his cheek and wiping his tears.

"You shouldn't." He whispered.

"The only time you’re allowed to tell me what to do is, in bed." She teased hoping he'd loosen up a bit but he didn't. His gaze lingered on the cast on her arm. "Dean look at me." She said with authority and smiled when he obeyed. "Can you answer some questions for me?" He nodded. "Do you blame Sam for what happened to Kevin?" She asked softly.

"No. It was Gadreel. Not Sam." Dean replied in an instant.

"Exactly. If you don't blame Sam for Kevin, why can't you stop blaming yourself."

"That's different." He shook his head.

"Do you love me, Dean?" Dean looked offended she'd even asked but he replied without a beat.

"With everything I have. I love you so much."

"Can you forgive yourself for me, then?" Dean stayed silent "please, baby."

"I don't wanna hurt you again." He confessed.

"You won't. I know you're only capable of loving me unless you're being controlled by some stupid curse. And I know you tried to fight it."

"I did." He placed his hands on her waist and she sighed in relief hugging him as tightly as she could with one arm. "I really did."

Light it up, on the run

Let's make love tonight

Make it up, fall in love, try

She pressed her lips to his and he kissed back ever so softly. His lips moved against her with fervour. He wanted to breath her in, imprint her on his mind. He snaked his hand around her waist and picked her up. And she wrapped her legs around him, not wanting to break the kiss. She needed him as much as he needed her. He pressed kisses to her face and jaw, he sat her on the table and stood between her legs.

"I'm sorry." He dropped feather light kisses to her neck. "I'm so sorry." He held onto her tightly as if she'd disappear if he let go.

"I'm right here baby." She assured him. "I love you."

"I love you, sweetheart." Dean made love to her, with his soft and gentle touches, he made it up to her, his actions showed her how much he loved her, how sorry he was. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close, savouring the moment. In the silence that followed, they knew they were far from okay but they would be okay together.

Tags:

@s0urw00lf @spnfamily-j2 @deangirl96

[adderallinfluenced]

thorns

gabriel x reader

TW WARNINGS: violence, torture/manipulation, cursing, blood, drugging

When her brothers find out about her and Gabriel’s relationship, they get into an argument. She storms out, finding herself in a bad situation, and Gabriel saves her.

——————————————————

Dean paced the motel, anger written all over his face. Sam sat in the chair across her, brow furrowed. They’d found out about Gabriel, or rather, her relations with him. Needless to say, they weren’t happy.

They were working on a rather tricky demon case at the time, planting them down in the middle of nowhere. Gabriel’s company while she did research was a welcome one, until Dean had walked into the two of them getting busy.

Her brothers harsh voice cut her through her thoughts.

“Have you got anything to say? At all?” He snapped, “I mean, fuck, Y/N. After all the freakin’ bullshit his feathered ass put us through?”

“What he put you through.” She snapped, “Not me. He’s not like that, Dean.” He really wasn’t. He cared about his family, and he sure cared about her, as far as she knew. Bringing her little gifts, taking her to different places and giving her the chance to finally unwind from constantly moving from city to city.

Dean scoffed, “How long have you been fucking around behind our backs, then?”

“God, what does that matter? It doesn’t change anything.”

He didn’t reply, staring daggers at her. He gritted his teeth, biting back something harsh. If looks could kill, she thought to herself. She rolled her eyes, “Just under two years,” she muttered.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Her brother stared at her. “Two freaking years?”

“Do you even know what he’s capable of?” Sam’s voice cut in. He’d stayed mostly silent up to that point. “I can’t even count how many times he killed Dean; and I lived through it over and over and over. He’s immortal, Y/N, with the power to do nearly anything if he just thinks it.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She threw back sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

“My point is, he’s going to get bored at some point. They all do. As much as I love you, I really doubt you’re the exception here.” He finished.

“You guys hang around Cas.” She pointed out.

“He’s.. Thats different. It doesn’t matter. He’s bad news, sis. Nothing good happens when he’s hanging around, and you should know it.” Dean added. That fucking hypocrite, she thought.

“Can’t be that different, I’d almost say it’s very similar. Especially for you, Dean.” She retorted. Her patience was paper thin.

Hues of red crept up his face. Her jab had clearly hit the target, but it only pissed him off further. “That has nothing to do with this.” His voice was low, dripping with anger. “Why can’t you just listen to me for once? After everything I’ve done for you, I feel like you owe me this one.” He added.

“Like I owe you- Christ, Dean. Quit acting like dad. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” She hissed back at him.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N. We’re just looking out for you.”

“Yeah? Controlling who I can and can’t see is looking out for me?” Her blood was boiling.

“Yeah, it is. Would it be so hard to listen? Are you capable of that?” How dare he?

“Dean-” Sam began, but her harsh tone cut him off.

“Screw you, Dean. I’m out. You can figure this out-” she motioned towards the mess of research papers on the coffee table, “by your damn self.” She stood up, and despite their protests, grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind her. She was hot with anger.

Making her way out her car, she unlocked it and slipped inside. It was a dingy old thing, but at least it was hers. She turned the key, and the engine rolled over, hesitating to start. Not now.. A couple more tries and it finally roared to life. She sat there for a couple minutes, thinking.

She pulled out, deciding an aimless drive was what she needed. Are you there, Gabe? She prayed out to him, I need someone to talk to. Silence. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. He rarely did answer her prayers.

She turned the music up, allowing that to distract her further. She tapped her fingers against the wheel to the beat. The sun was setting, casting hues of purples, oranges and pinks across the sky. It was getting late.

Ahead in the road was a small bar and grill, and her stomach rumbled. She didn’t see herself going back to the motel anytime soon, so dinner sounded like a good idea. Grabbing dinner if you want to join, Gabe, she prayed to him, pulling into the parking lot.

The joint had definitely seen better days, but that wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying a few drinks and food. Letting out a sigh, she parked the car, waiting. Thoughts ran rampant in her mind. He wouldn’t get bored, she assured herself. Would he? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Briefly, she wondered if she should just head back to the motel. Demons were crawling through this town like termites to a tree. And it’s getting late, she added to herself; but she didn’t even want to think about her brothers at that moment. I’ll sleep in the car if I have to, she decided, stepping out onto the pavement.

She stepped inside, finding a seat at the bar. The bartender slid a menu over to her, flashing a friendly smile, “Haven’t seen you in here before. Just passing through?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She replied, looking through the menu. “I’ll start with a vodka cran, tall. Thanks.” Sliding the menu back to him, he took it and nodded. She took in the surroundings of the small diner. It was rather slow; a couple folks took up the corner table, a pair played cards, another couple enjoying a dinner. Apart from chatter, and the dusty jukebox in the corner, it was relatively quiet. Almost peaceful.

“Tall vodka cran for the lady.”

The bartender was back. “Name’s Dusty, by the way.” He added, leaning against the bar. He eyed her curiously.

“Nice to meet you.” She wasn’t necessarily in the mood to talk, much less personalize with someone. “What do you recommend for a bite here?” She added, hoping he took a hint.

“You can’t go wrong with our burger.” He replied. “Want me to put one in for ya?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” She sighed in relief when he turned back. Normally, simple conversation didn’t bother her, but she was too fed up with nearly everything to care.

She pulled her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her temples in frustration. Everything’s been going good for her thus far. They’d moved from hunt to hunt, executing each one damn near flawlessly. Her and Gabriel had grown close, too, and she felt as if she was in deep with the archangel. It was nearly every other day they’d see each other, the two dodging around her nosy brothers. Until that last time, she reminded herself.

Dusty made his back over, plate in hand. She turned her attention over to him. “Here’s that burger for you, Y/N.” He smiled, sliding the plate over to her. She froze, I never told him my name.

“I- Uh, thanks.” She tried playing it off. I need to leave. She wasn’t about to take any chances. All she had was her knife.

“I left something in my car. Keep an eye on that burger for me?” She attempted to lighten the awkward mood with a laugh, lifting herself up off the barstool, she made her way for the door. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her heart pounding.

The man who had been playing cards stood at the door, blocking her way.

“Leaving so fast, Y/N?” His eyes were swallowed in darkness. Fuck. She reeled her arm back, swinging and making contact with his jaw. Surprise lit up his face, clearly not inspecting that from her. She pivoted around him, reaching for the door when another hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back.

Grabbing her knife, she twisted around to meet Dusty, only his eyes her black as well. She tried to stab through to his side, another demon grabbing her from behind. She struggled against them, shooting a glare up at Dusty.

“I’m betting you aren’t really Dusty, are you? Let me go.” She hissed at him. He laughed.

“Name’s Acteus, sweetheart.”

Acteus? That was the ‘ringleader’ of the demons they’d been tracking. She was in way over her head. Gabriel? Please help me, she prayed desperately towards her archangel. No response, yet.

“So now what? Kill me?” She snapped back at him.

“Kill you? No, I’m just here for some fun. You Winchesters are a pain to kill anyways.” He chuckled. When he stepped closer, she brought her foot up in a kick, meeting with his groin. He doubled over, and she tried to pull herself free.

“You bitch.” He looked up at her, pissed. Pulling his arm back, he hit her square on the side of the head. The world spun, and she slumped over, darkness shrouding her vision.

————————————————————————

When she woke, she had no idea where she was. The room contained a rickety table, a thick door and concrete made up each wall. Her skull itself felt as it was throbbing from where she’d been clocked over the head.

Dusty- No, the demon; Acteus, circled around her. The dirty concrete stung on the cut across her cheek, the ropes digging into her wrists. This is fucked. He twirled a fancy knife around in his hands, and dropped to a crouch in front of her, a smile plastered across his face.

“You don’t have to make this hard, sweetheart. We just have a couple questions for you, that’s all.” She didn’t respond.

He reached down and grabbed her face, directing her attention on him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell us what we want to know. Cooperate, and we won’t have any problems. Got it?” He let go of her, pushing her head back into the floor. Her head collided with the concrete, sending dizzying stars into her eyes, and a groan escaped her throat. He stood up, and she remained silent.

“Got it?”

She flicked her gaze up to meet his. “Fuck off,” She hissed, and before she could say anything else, his boot collided with her ribs harshly. A loud crack echoed through the room, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She tried to catch her breath but all that came out was a weak wheeze, and she whined in pain. Gabriel? I really need your help here.

“You Winchesters are so stubborn.” He scoffed. “Speaking of, where are those brothers of yours? Where there’s one pest, there’s more, and I will not be taking ‘I don’t know’ for an answer.” He growled. He paced around her again, waiting for an answer.

She opened her mouth to say something snarky, and was cut off by another sharp kick to her side, and yelped. She looked up at him with rage in her eyes, and he clicked his tongue at her.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that, Y/N.” He drawled her name out mockingly, “my patience is very thin right now.” He crouched over her once more, pulling his blade back out. He lifted her shirt up slightly, revealing deep bruises already forming over her side. “That’s going to be a bitch to heal,” and he placed the tip of the blade over her skin.

“I won’t ask you again.” His gaze was fixed on her.

“They were at the motel down the road. How the hell am I supposed to know where they are now? We finished up our hunt here.” She lied. He cocked his head to one side, not breaking eye contact, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?” He lifted the knife up off of her, and her confidence grew.

“Liar.” He pushed the blade deeper, drawing blood, and in one swift motion, sliced down her side. She cried out in pain, her vision blurring. Gabriel, Cas, anyone. Please help me, she begged silently. She refused to give him any information. He stood back up, his boots making contact with her fingers, and they cracked under the pressure, sending white hot pain through her hand. When he stepped away, two of them were at an awkward angle.

“Oops. Did I step on you?” He sneered. “You don’t have to make this hard. You want out of here, I want answers.” He started, “I think we can make a fair compromise here, hm?”

Between her head, her side, and her hands, the pain was unbearable. Tears welled at her eyes, betraying her monotone expression.

“I hate you.” She hissed through her teeth. Another harsh kick.

“Wrong answer.”

He retreated back a couple steps, and threw the knife onto the table. “I’m not done with you yet.” He headed for the door, and paused, “If I were you, I would heavily consider cooperating.”

He was gone. Her mental walls broke down, tears falling down her cheeks, her whimpers echoing around the room. She was growing weaker by the second, and she knew it.

Everything hurt. Blood was oozing down her side, welling into a puddle on the floor. She couldn’t move her fingers, and her head felt as if it were about to split open. Exhaustion clung to her every sense, and she closed her eyes. I’m so sorry, Gabriel. For a moment, there was peace. The pain subsided, briefly.

In another flash, she was yanked back to reality. On one side of her, a man- no, demon, held her down. In front of her, she was face to face with Acteus, a syringe in his hands, injecting her with.. something. Her veins felt as if hot lava were running through them, and she struggled to catch her breath. He slapped her across the face, hard.

“You think you can die and have an easy way out?” He laughed, “I will bring you back over and over again until I don’t need you anymore.” They both let go of her, and she flinched away from them. Her heart was racing, it felt as if it her about to pound out of her chest. Her senses felt sharper, and she felt the aching pain of her wounds intensify. What the fuck did they give me?

“How about this Gabriel?” He asked curiously. “Word through the grapevine says he’s grown quite fond of you.” He eyed her, looking for any sort of reaction.

“What.. about him?” Her lungs felt like they were lit on fire, each word was a struggle.

“Don’t play stupid with me.”

“Does it matter?” Why does he care? She wriggled against the rope restraint on her wrist, casting a glare up at him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me.

“Oh, it does. He’s been quite a pain for us lately. Do you realize how much that archangel is worth?”

He smirked, placing his now bloodied boot over her side, applying pressure. She tried to move away, but he had her pinned. The pain was dizzying, icy cold darkness blurring the edge of her vision. Gabriel, if you can hear me… She silently begged, please help me.

“Come on, at least put up a little fight. I almost feel bad for you.” He stepped off of her, retreating a couple steps. The lights flickered, briefly, catching his attention. She could hear glass shattering from behind the door, the sounds of a fight filling the silence. Gabriel? Acteus stalked over to the door, locking it. He grabbed his blade from the table and turned back to her. He bent down and grabbed her by the hair, holding her down against the concrete.

“Those brothers of yours just can’t stay away, can they?” She flicked her attention up to him, with a more bewildered look in her eyes. No, it can’t be them. There’s too many demons up there. What if they.. She cleared her thoughts. I can’t think about that right now.

“Expecting someone else, Y/N?” He tightened his grip on her, pushing a knee into her side. “Come on, you don’t think we’re dumb enough to leave the place unwarded, hm?”

He clicked his tongue, “Well, I can’t imagine they’ll get too far. But just in case,” He pushed into her side more, deep pain causing darkness to cloud her vision as she cried out. “It might be best if I make sure there’s nothing left for them to save, hm?” He pulled his blade back out, pressing it against her throat. She tried to struggle away, but there was nowhere to go.

The lights flickered once more, and the door behind him splintered apart. Acteus jumped up, kicking her harshly to the side to face the intruder. He held his knife up, but faltered. Shock was evident in his face, but just briefly. His confident demeanor returned.

“Gabriel! What a surprise-” His voice was cut off as the archangel grabbed him by the throat, slamming him up against the wall. He swung his knife out towards his attackers side, stopping when Gabriel grabbed his wrist,

“How’d you get in here?” Acteus choked out, his hands struggling to pull Gabriel’s own off of himself.

“Wrong wards, dumbass.” His voice was laced with venom. She’d never seen him this pissed off before; angry, upset, irritated, sure. But this was a level of pure, unbridled rage she’d never seen.

“Hey- Come on, this is all a huge mistake. I’ll let her go, you can let me go and we’ll be on our way? This won’t happen again.” He rambled, and for once, there was fear behind his eyes.

“You’re right, it won’t happen again.” Gabriel righted his grip on Acteus’ throat, and the air crackled with energy. Sugar, close your eyes. Gabe’s voice echoed through her skull, and she screwed her eyes shut. The room lit up harshly, she felt heat radiating from the two. Acteus’ screams filled the room, filled with fear and pain, worse than nails on a chalkboard. As awful as the echoing sounds were, she had no empathy for him. Between the chaos in the room, her injuries and exhaustion, it was too much.

The light died down, and she opened her eyes to see Gabriel, and what once was Acteus. There was nothing left of him. Sleep and darkness lulled along her senses, and she couldn’t bare it further. She closed her eyes, the last thing she heard was Gabriel’s voice, begging his father to spare her, and comforting her as he desperately worked on her wounds. She slipped into nothing.

————————————————————————

Sunlight filled the room. She groggily opened her eyes, finding herself on her bed. Gabriel was sat on the of the bed, eyes fixated on the door. Keeping watch, maybe? She tried to sit up, groaning as her weak and sore muscles protested. His head snapped towards her direction, and he moved to her side.

“Woah, easy sugar,” He murmured, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I couldn’t heal you completely. You…” His voice trailed off. “The damage was too extensive. It’s been just under two weeks.” He finished carefully.

“Two weeks..” She echoed. Then it hit her. Her memories came crashing down, Acteus, that room, her fight with her brothers, the… damage he’d done to her. She lifted her cover up, and then her shirt, inspecting her side. Apart from light bruises, there was no evidence of any trauma. She looked up at him, “You came.”

“I almost lost you.” He whispered.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Gabe.” She replied with a weak laugh. His concern didn’t falter. She reached her arms out to him, pulling him closer to her. “I thought I was going to die in there.” She admitted. He moved to where he was lying next to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“You almost did. I mean, fuck, I almost lost you. What if I had showed up a few minutes later?” He murmured.

She sighed, “I don’t know, Gabe. I’ve been able to take care of myself up until now. They took me by surprise, I guess.”

He stared at her, his golden eyes reflecting his emotions like panes of glass. He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“How did you find me? I thought he had wards up.” She asked.

“He did, he just did a shit job at it. Your muttonhead brothers could do it better blackout drunk.” He replied, slight amusement edging his tone. Oh my god, my brothers. She hadn’t spoke to them since she’d stormed out of the motel, she realized.

“I was getting your prayers, sugar. I just couldn’t find you. Do you know how many buildings I tore up looking for you?”

She didn’t reply. She thought he’d just been busy, or ignoring her. No wonder he was so pissed, even before finding her.

“Sam, Dean- where are they?” She asked. Had it really been two weeks?

“Oh, they’re here. They weren’t happy to see me, and that’s an understatement. They won’t leave, something about not trusting me, or something.” He mumbled that last part.

She suppressed a giggle, “I can’t imagine why.”

“Do you want me to grab them?” He asked. She really didn’t, not yet. She wasn’t quite ready to talk to them. The comfort of her bed, along with Gabriel holding her was not something she wanted to abandon yet.

“No. I think I’m too tired.” She laid her head against his chest. “Rest with me?” She asked, peppering soft kisses along his neck. He sighed, melting into her touch.

“Sugar, you’ve been resting for two weeks, and archangels don’t sleep.” He replied, matter-of-factly.

“Okay, alright. But I can’t imagine you’ve done anything short of stressing and sitting right at the edge of my bed for the last.. two weeks.” She threw back at him. She knew she was right when he didn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought.” She added, stifling a yawn. “Just for an another hour or two?” She kissed right below his jaw again, and he took a deep breath.

“You drive a hard bargain, sugar.” He murmured, running his fingers through her hair.

“Thank you for saving me, Gabriel.”

He didn’t respond, humming and pulling her body close. She closed her eyes, the rising and falling of her angel lulling her to sleep.

[delulu4dean]

No Doctors (Sam and Dean Winchester x sibling!reader)

Warnings: needles I guess

Parings: sam Winchester X sibling!reader, Dean Winchester x sibling!reader

Prompt: you’re a hunter scared of needles idk I went to urgent care the other day and I hate needles.

Word Count: 1,044

Sam, Dean, and you, their younger, nineteen year old half sibling have seen a lot, obviously. Hunters? You see vampires, werewolves, ghosts. But as a Winchester you see so much more. The three of you have saved the world quite a few times. It is safe to say not much phases the Winchesters.

But you, Y/N Winchester has one big fear, needles. When Sam injected Demon Dean with human blood, you could not watch. It wasn’t because of your big brother’s yells of pain, but because you cannot even look at a needle. So when Sam and Dean told you that you HAD to see a doctor, you put it off until it was too late. Now your legs were covered in red spots. The spots were not inflamed or itching. They looked like bleeding under the skin, which means its less like a rash. Google did not help ease Sam and Dean’s worries about you.

“Y/N damn it, we have to rule out anything serious,” Dean told you.

“I am fine,” you insisted.

“Google says you have one week to live,” your older brother furrowed his eyebrows, showing you his google search on his smart phone.

“Google is not a doctor,” you rolled your eyes.

“That is why we have to take you to a doctor. Right Sam?”

Sam nods in agreement.

“Look, if Cas was here, he could figure it out, but he isn’t. We are going to urgent care,” Dean demanded. “Now get your ass to my car.”

You looked over to Sam and back to Dean, fear in your eyes. You knew what this meant, bloodwork. You could not do bloodwork. Just seeing a needle makes you sick to your stomach. The last time you had bloodwork done, you threw up. When you had to get your Covid vaccines, you took your brothers with you. It worked because they ended up getting theirs as well, but when it came to your turn, your brothers had to distract you so you didnt see the needle. You held Dean’s hands and almost broke his fingers as the needle went into your flesh.

“Dean, doctors are scary. All they do is poke at you with needles,” you frowned at your older brother.

“Sam and I will both be there by your side,” Dean insisted.

And so here you are now. The walking to the lab with your brothers at your side. You look for all possible exists to run out of here, but you know its no use. Dean would drag you back if he has to. The lab nurse sits you down in the chair and looks for a good vein. Shit. It’s going to happen. Your eyes follow her hands as she pulls out all the tubes that will be soon filled with your blood. The things is you’re not grossed out by the idea of seeing your own blood, its kind of cool actually. But knowing how it gets in there is too much.

You see her take out the needle and your instincts kick in. You jump out of your seat before your brothers push you back. Dean holds you down on the chair and you look at him with tears in your eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that kid,” Dean sighs, a guilty expression coming across his face. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am fine! And when we find out that nothing is wrong you’re going to be sorry,” you spit.

Sam holds the hand of the arm that the nurse will draw blood from, not just to keep it steady, but to calm you down.

“You are a fighter, you are strong, you got this,” Sam tells you. “Just don’t look, and then you won’t feel it, okay?” You nod at Sam. “Attagirl. Now don’t look at me, or else you’ll see the needle too. Look at Dean.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Dean cuts in. You look up at your eldest brother. “Good job.”

“I’m not a child,” you remind Dean.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a kid compared to Sam and I,” Dean chuckles.

“Well yeah, Sam is old and you’re ancient,” you tease.

“Ancient?” Dean fakes an offended expression.

“Yeah. So ancient that when the Egyptians built the pyramids, they looked at you and said ‘Wow that man is ancient.’”

Sam laughs but plays it off as a cough when Dean shoots a look at him. You feel a cotton ball on your arm as the nurse wraps the bandage on your arm.

“All done,” she smiles. “You can go to the waiting room and as soon as we get your results, you’ll be notified.”

You’re surprised and relieved to find out its done and over with. And you didn’t feel a thing.

“You did it kid,” Dean smiles at you.

“We are proud of you,” Sam ruffles your hair.

“I’m almost twenty don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” you get up and push past your brothers.

They follow you into the waiting room and sit by your side. Sam wraps an arm around you while you’re all pouty and embarrassed.

“We aren’t babying you or anything,” Sam sighs. “You have a genuine fear, and you faced it. We know you’re an adult. You are capable of doing a lot, you are a badass hunter. A Winchester.”

You nod, not so confidently. You and your brothers watch the TV in the waiting room where some old cowboy movie is playing. Dean is loving it, but you just want to get your results and go back home. After twenty minutes, a doctor comes out with a clipboard.

“You are fine, your blood came back clean. And over the counter rash cream should be able to help. You are free to go home,” she tells you.

Dean scoffs, and Sam looks confused. To be fair, you don’t understand either, you know its not a rash, it doesn’t look like a rash. But it can’t be what Dean looked up either if the bloodwork came back clean so its clearly nothing serious. As the doctor walks away, you glare at your older brothers.

“See, I knew bloodwork was a waste of time.”

Dean shrugs as Sam says, “Better safe than sorry.”

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

The Cost of it All

somethings not right with Sam, and when you become injured, he faulters.

cw : fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, typical injury and blood, hospitals, no use of y/n, summary : somethings not right with Sam, and when you become injured, he faulters. characters Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, f!reader wc: 3131 famdon: Supernatural

"Sam stop!" You practically begged. He was so focused on getting the demons out of their vessels he couldn't hear you.

Sam had found you and Dean in an abandoned warehouse with Crowley and two other demons; he was shooting first and asking questions later....He thought you were in trouble.

The fact was, you and Dean had snuck off to make a deal with Crowley to find the rest of the Angel tablet, but Sam couldn't know - he was too off the rails with his visions and his powers.

"Sam enough!" Dean boomed from other side of the room, but again it fell on deaf ears. "If you don't get a hold of your pet, I'm going to take matters into my own hands!" Crowley threatened, his eyes piercing you menacingly.

You went to step forward, to intervene, as Sam forced more black smoke from the vessels; blood starting to trail from his nose. As you did so, Dean grabbed your wrist to stop you - he didn't want you getting hurt.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" Crowley snipped - before Dean could react, Crowley had grabbed Dean's gun from his waistline, pointed it at you, and pulled the trigger.

Your breath was forced from your lungs as your back hit the concrete, shocked, gasping for a breath, feeling a weight crushing your chest. Hearing the shot and seeing you go down, Sam dropped his hand, snapping his attention to you - the black smoke feverishly returning to the vessels from which it was being ripped from.

"Good boy. Now, come Moose. You seem to have more drive than your costars to find me that Tablet." Crowley threw the gun back to Dean, snapped his fingers at the Demons and left the warehouse without hesitation; demons in tow. Dean drew his attention back to you, coming down to your side to see what the damage was. "I'm fine." You gasped - it felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest and you couldn't get a full breath in. "No, you're not" Dean growled, finding the bullet hole just below your breast. "Turn over" Sitting up - you turned your torso with a gasp of pain, so Dean could look at your back "No exit" He mumbled. "We gotta go."

You both looked up to Sam, who seemed like he had been glued to the spot since watching you take the fall - his big hazel eyes staring down at you in pain, wanting to help, but not wanting to get too close. "Sam I said let's go, help me get her up" Dean started, working to get your arm around his shoulders as you gasped feeling a sharp pierce in your chest. "I ca---" Sam started, his eyes flickering from dark warm blood staining your shirt, to the door Crowley left out of - he started shaking his head, disbelieving what was coming out of his own mouth.

"Sam?" You questioned. There was a twinge of pain and uncertainty in your voice. "We need to find the Tablet." He stated - not daring to make eye contact with you or Dean. His brows furrowed at he stared at the door, nostrils flaring. "Sam I swear to god if you walk out of here to go play bitch to Crowley---" Dean growled, his grip on you tightening as he helped you stand up fully.

You let out a whimper as the movement caused more blood to seep out the bullet hole.

Sam looked towards you, pitying what he was seeing - he was feeling bad that he didnt feel bad... He felt pity, knowing that you'd be laid up for a few days, unable to hunt. He fought his thoughts for a moment. He then stood up straight, let out a breath of air and raised his brows.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam stated flatly, before giving one last sad glance at you, and walking out the door.

"Sam!" Dean barked after him - jaw clenched, wanting to wail on his brother for abandoning you both.

__

The road felt too long to be nearing the hospital. You focussed wildly on your breathing as you felt your head getting lighter, and your tshirt heavier, with blood. Your head began nodding back into the cool leather seats - a relief you thought, you might just let it swallow you whole...

"Hey!" Deans voice cut through the roaring of the impala - the sound that was lulling you further into a breathless trance. " You gotta keep your eyes open you hear me?" Panic and anger were deep within his words, his forehead creased with exasperation, his lips in a tense line, teeth clenched. You nodded along to him as your eyes focussed intensly on his face - his stubble that was growing out fresh from a trim days ago, his jaw flexing in and out of his cheeks as he gritted his teeth with apprehension. "You've got a nice jaw" You had no idea where the words were coming from - you didn't feel like talking through the pain but something was taking over you ... most likely delusion as you lost more and more blood. Dean's eyes flickered frantically from the road to you. As the hospital drew nearer in sight, the impala soared to life as Dean put his foot down - impossibly more than he already was. Your head nodded down one final time and your eyes closed - slumped in the passenger seat.

"Damnit stay with me!" He growled, his voice beginning to break for you - for Sam, for the situation his brother had gotten you into.

__

The doors to the emergency room swung open as Dean lifted your lifeless body into the room filled with people whos ailments seem to be microscopic in comparison to the burden Dean was carrying. "Somebody help me please" He cried - his voice no longer stern and loud; it was now a fragile plea in a sterile room.

Nurses moved tenderly but hurriedly as they brought a bed for Dean to rest you on, which he did, unwilling to let you out of his grasps - he held your hand and walked briskly with the nurses who began working on you as they walked. The warmth of your hand against his gave him comfort, but his heart still ached for you to open your eyes... Before he knew it, you were whisked away and he was left standing in a cold hallway, his hands running through his hair, as he forced himself to take a shaky breath in, finally resting his hands on his waist. Hours seemed to pass before Dean was finally reunited with you - now dressed in a clean white gown, under thin hospital sheets, in a private room. The nurses had adorned you with a breathing tube and IVs; all of which Dean's worried eyes darted over, trying to comprehend what he was seeing for the first time. Your eyes were still closed, but you looked restful instead of in pain...your cheeks flush with color, your breathing slow and steady thanks to the machine. He ran a hand across your cheeks, brushing your hair out of your eyes as his eyebrows knitted together, frustrated. you weren't looking at him. He licked his lips, biting them after, and drew in a breath. For the evening, Dean drew up a chair, and sat, head in hands, elbows on knees beside you for hours. Hours had turned into days. Days into a week. Nurses came in and out to change your IVs, and to adjust your bedding. Dean came in and out with food and coffee, only daring to leave when nurses begged him that he absolutely had to eat. The steady beep of the machines lulled Dean to an almost fearful sleep until he heard heavy slow footsteps approach door. He snapped back to consciousness, his green eyes darting protectively to the door. There stood Sam. Mouth slightly agape, eyes filled with worry and frustration at what he saw before him - hands in his pockets, unable to stop fidgeting. He dared not cross the threshold without permission.

"What are you doing here." Dean pursed his lips, standing up slowly, aggressively approaching his brother.

"I uh..." Sam took a breath and removed his hands from his pockets, putting them up as a show of no harm to his brother. He ran a hand through his hair, as it fell back into his eyes. "I found the rest of the Tablet." He said biting his lower lip. "Crowley's got it and he's working on deciphering it." The whole time he talked, his eyes didn't move from you. "I don't care" Dean started, getting closer to his brother, his chest almost touching "I said what are you doing here''.

Dean's voiced dripped like poison, he encroached his brothers space until Sam staggered back. Dean had his shoulders back, chest out, peacocking and protecting the space that you laid in.

"Dean, I came to see her." Sam pleaded, his eyes finally breaking away from your rosy cheeks to his brothers piercing gaze.

"What gives you the right to see her, after you did this to her?" Dean stopped moving now that he had passed the doorway - your room now out of reach from Sam. "What gives you the right, to feel sorry for her, after you left us back there, and didn't even call, or text or tell us this stupid ass plan of yours, huh?" Deans words stung as his eyes glistened, tears on the verge, but not for being sad - for being angry, and having to lay the anger on his little brother who he swore to protect years ago. He was fighting interally - part of Dean wanted to grab his brother in a hug and be glad that he knew he was safe, and part of him wanted to fight him for leaving you and him in pain for a week without a word.

"There's nothing I can say that's going to fix this Dean." Sam started, shaking his head, falling victim to Dean's words. "I can't un-do what I did, and I am sorry and I..." Dean cut him off before he could continue. "Do you even know why we've been here a week Sammy? Do you know what she's been through? "Crowley put one bullet inside her, and happened to slice just a little piece of her lung and it collapsed. Her lung collapsed Sam. She couldn't breathe. She lost so much blood that it took two days for them to get her back to semi normal. And now, just now Sam, they said there still might be fragments of the bullet inside of her chest that probably will never fully heal. Thats my bullet Sam. My bullet fragments inside of her that I couldn't protect her from, because my little brother was too selfish to stop and ask what we were doing there with Crowley in the first place! That's your girl in there Sam, and you abandoned her! You abandoned us!"

Dean huffed, his chest rising and falling quickly as his anger rose and fell with waves of emotions.

"I know. I know." Sam dared not find the words; Crowley had told him almost immediately what the original plan had been with you and Dean, but he quickly changed his mind when he saw how powerful Sam had become; and Sam had become so consumed with Demon blood and finding the tablet that his guilt and conscious had taken a back seat when it came to family. His lips quivered as he looked at you - his girl, his world. He ached to touch you and make sure everything was ok.

"Oh, you know. Great. Goodbye Sam." Dean shook his head and threw his hands in the air - as he did so, turning back into the room, and finding his familiar seat at your side, grabbing your hand and stroking it - mostly to comfort himself and calm his breathing.

Sam didn't say another word, but slowly inched into the room, all while Dean kept a sharp eye on him. Sam pulled another chair and sat at the far end of the room - enough to see you but far enough from his brother's radiating anger.

__

You wake up to something itching your nose. Your first reaction is to scratch at whatever it is, but as you raise your arm, you feel cold tubes running over it. Your eyes blink a few times, coming out of the deep slumber you were placed in for weeks. Eyelids heavy, your thoughts try to assess what is around you. Itchy sheets touch your legs. Cold wires and tubes make the hair stand up on your arms. The tubes looped around your ears into your nose make your ears sore. You take a deep breath through your nose, realizing you have an oxygen tube. You open your mouth to lick your lips but realize how dry your tongue and throat are. You make a gravelly sound with your throat in distaste. "Hey hey" A familiar voice makes you blink more - Sam comes into view at the side of the bed, puppy dog eyes; his hair falling in his eyes, his lips twitching into a smile. You open and close your mouth a few more times trying to get some saliva into your throat to no avail. "Water, you want water." Sam deciphers. He disappears from your vision for a moment before coming back with a small white cup of water. He helps you bring it to your lips so you can drink it down. After you drink, you gasp, letting your head fall back into the pillow, glad to have a moistened mouth.

"What happened?" You ask, testing you voice out. You feel like you've been asleep for hours - tired from being under for so long.

Sam shifts uncomfortable in his seat next to you "You got shot - " He started, but stops almost immediately when you start shaking your head. "No, I know that - but what happened?" You vaguely gesture around you with whatever energy you have, which isn't a lot.

"Your lung collapsed, and you've been under for a week, and some." A new voice filled the room - Dean. You see him walk in the room, coffee in hand. Dark circles under his eyes, his face looking sunken and tired; but he managed a small smile at you. "Dean." You breathe out, a smile appearing on your face - you recall what had happened up until about when you got into the Impala; so it was a relief to still see him with you. "You look terrible" You note out loud.

Dean chuckles at your quip, and drags a seat up to the other side of your bed. Sam shifts back into his chair, putting what little room he can between him and his brother.

"A week huh." You repeat, looking around the room. "And you've both been here the whole time?" You question, a smile creeping on your lips, feeling honoured and silly at the fact that both boys had been there watching you.

"Well, I have." Dean answered, sitting back smug in his chair, lifting his coffee to point towards his brother. "But Sam here, he thought it was best abandon us both and go after the tablet with Crowley." Dean was playing hard into the Sam leaving card, making his brother feel as guilty as he could. Your heart sinks after hearing this. You couldn't recall if Sam had come with you in the Impala, but after getting confirmation it made you sick to your stomach. Your own boyfriend, deserting you and his own brother to go be reckless with the King of Hell.

"But that's in the past, now aint it Sammy?" Dean sarcastically implied to his brother, patting him aggressively on his back. Sam shifted again in his seat - you could see his jaw flexing, gritting his teeth, staring daggers at Dean. "I just wake up and the first thing you two do is fight." You state, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

Sam turned his eyes to you, his brows knitted in defeat and sadness; Dean sat up in his chair, feeling like he had just been a child scolded.

"Sam that was reckless" You breath out, feeling hurt but also sad for him, sad that he thought he had to diverge paths from his brother and girlfriend just to sacrifice himself again.

"I know. I know it was, and I'm sorry I really am. I was hopped up on demon blood, and I just..." He shook his head, closing his eyes to catch his thoughts. " I just - my judgement was clouded. I haven't drank blood since that night and I am really....really sorry." His apology was from the heart - you could see his eyes trying to connect with you, his hands fidgeting unknowing where to put them. You sigh, and open a palm for him to grab, he takes it willingly and sighs, a small smile falters at the corner of his lips.

"Reckless" You restate, squeezing his hand. "Reckless." He confirms, nodding in agreement. "Sort your shit out another day." You plead to Dean, still sat up in his chair, but now looking at the ground - feeling guilty for giving his brother the third degree as his girlfriend was unconscious. He nods at the floor.

__

As the days dragged on and your body slowly began to heal, the tension in the room felt almost non existant.

The boys had silently put their issues aside but Dean's protective nature came with an edge. You can see the anger in his eyes whenever he looks at Sam—the dissapointment of Sam doing so many reckless things for such little reward.

Sam, for his part, was quiet. He’s here, but he’s distant, like a ghost, consumed by guilt. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, but the space between you both is shallow. There’s a part of you that can feel his apology without him having to speak it.

You reach out and place your hand gently over Sam’s - you feel the tension dissipate. His hazel eyes staring into yours - fleeting hope within them, as a small smile plays on the corner of his mouth.

Dean watches from the foot of the bed, his posture tense, but you see it, just for a second: a loosening, like he’s letting go of some of his anger. No words are exchanged—no grand declarations or sweeping apologies—but it feels like a start. Maybe not the end of everything, but a beginning. You don’t know how long it’ll take, or if everything can ever truly be fixed, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the three of you will find your way back to each other.

[quietwings-fics]

an unexpected turn of events

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Samifer Additional Tags: Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-sexual alpha/beta/omega dynamics, (just to be clear), Scenting, Pack Bonding, Omega Sam Winchester, Omega Lucifer (Supernatural), Omega/Omega, Season/Series 05, Cuddling & Snuggling, Made For Each Other Wordcount: 3261 Summary:

Sam goes into heat, and he refuses to call anyone to help him. Lucifer finds out anyway.

Sam didn’t have heats once he was drowning in demon blood. At the time, it felt like a relief. Dean was dead, and their pack was small but it had still been a pack, and without him, Sam’s heats were torture. Ruby never showed any interest in a pack bond, always made herself scarce during the few heats Sam did have with her around. By the time Dean wasn’t dead anymore, Sam wasn’t going into heat at all and he didn’t have time to reestablish a proper bond with Dean. He told himself he would have time later. He told himself it would be worth it.

And now the world was ending.

Even if Dean knew he was in heat now, would it matter? He wasn’t going to come and scent Sam and hold him close. Sam didn’t deserve to have a pack anymore. He didn’t even deserve to have a nest. He stared at his empty bed from the doorway of his bathroom, feeling feverish and dizzy. He wanted to build one so badly. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to call Dean and beg him to come. Dean took care of him in heat his whole life, except when he was dead or during Sam’s time at Stanford. Without anyone here, even his long broken mate bond with Jessica felt like an open wound.

Sam wanted a nest. He wanted his brother. He even wanted Castiel, because somewhere along the way Dean had decided the angel was pack, too. Maybe more than Sam was. Sam pulled the covers off of his bed, wrapped them around his shoulders, and sat on the floor in the corner between his bed and the bedside table. This had only started a few hours ago, and already he felt like he was burning up. He’d start having cramps soon, and that would make everything worse. He tucked himself into a ball, thoughts filtering down to one desperate line of Dean Dean Dean Dean I want my brother. When a keen escaped him, calling for his pack, he knew there was no way anyone was going to hear him, but he still listened. He still felt crushed when no one came to help.

He curled up tighter. He was tired and sick, and he just wanted it to end.

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep.

He didn’t notice at first. All his dreams took place in his room now. It still hurt, even in his dream, and he didn’t uncurl himself from his corner. He only became aware that someone else was there when he heard them shifting on the bed above him. He froze up. That same someone threw their legs over the edge of the bed and peered down at him. Lucifer took him in impassively, and Sam tried not to breathe. The only kindness here was that there were no scents in dreams, so Lucifer couldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asked. Sam clenched his jaw. Lucifer sounded very calm, and some part of Sam that he hated, that he needed to shut up right now, insisted that he was safe. “If you’re hurt, I want to help.”

“Like hell.” Sam bit out. Lucifer was unfazed. He leaned back, looked away, and for a moment, Sam thought he was going to leave. Another keen rose up in his chest, completely unbidden, and he crushed it down.

“I don’t enjoy seeing you suffer, Sam. You can believe whatever you want about the rest of my motivations, but I will heal you if you’re in pain. You only need to ask me.” It was tempting. It was meant to be, Sam reasoned. He didn’t even know if that would work, if an angel could will away a heat the same way he’d seen Castiel fix up scrapes and sprains.

“I’m sick. People get sick sometimes. I don’t need your help.” Lucifer looked down at him again. He sounded disappointed when he next spoke.

“You’re a very good liar, but not to me.” He stood up from the bed and knelt down beside Sam. Lucifer moved like someone who’d had to practice having limbs, too careful and too well-acted to come across as natural. “Can I touch you?”

“No.” Sam tried to pull further back from the archangel encroaching on his space. Lucifer sighed.

“You frustrate me to no end, do you know that, Sam?” Sam didn’t back down, and after a minute, Lucifer shifted to stand again. “If this is what you want, then I’ll go.” Lucifer was actually going to leave him alone. Sam should have been relieved.

Instead, the keen building in his chest finally escaped.

For a brief moment, Lucifer looked surprised. Sam felt like a deer in headlights. The call was unmistakably an Omega one. When Lucifer smiled, he felt himself start to panic. Sam wanted to get away, but Lucifer was in front of him, boxing him into the corner he’d sequestered himself in.

“You’re in heat,” Lucifer said, sounding so utterly pleased with that fact. “Of course you’re an Omega. You were made for me.” Sam’s blood ran cold. He wanted to wake up now. He wanted Lucifer to get the fuck away from him. He couldn’t scent the archangel, had no idea what he was, but from his words alone, Sam could guess. He’d dealt with enough entitled Alphas in his life. “You’re alone now, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be this bad off if you had a pack.” Lucifer shuffled closer. “I can be that for you.”

“Fuck off.” How did people usually wake up from dreams? Pinching themselves? It had to hurt, didn’t it?

“Tell me where you are. I’ll take care of you.” Please, Sam’s instincts begged. Sam’s instincts were fucking stupid. Lucifer waited for an answer. Sam gave him one. He snapped his own wrist up and sank his teeth into the meat of his arm. Lucifer jerked back, and the last thing Sam saw before he woke up was Lucifer frowning, almost like he was concerned.

Sam didn't get better. By the next day, he was running a serious fever, and he didn't have the energy to do anything at all. His instincts were all but screaming at him, for a nest, for his pack, for any kind of comfort at all, and he squeezed his eyes shut and ignored them. He couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything for the past day. He definitely hadn't had enough water. His mouth was dry, and he'd already sweated through his shirt and ditched it. Most of the day, he spent on the floor, still in his corner, like his instincts were trying their best to make up for his lack of nesting by tucking him away somewhere safe.

In the back of his mind, he knew that if this carried on, he was putting himself in serious danger. He almost wished this was one of those heats that could be pushed back with sex toys and a few hours with his own hand, but this one ran deeper, demanding connection to a pack that he had but wasn't there.

Dean was a phone call away. Dean was a whole world away. Despite the fact that once, he'd have done anything to traverse that distance if Sam only asked, he wouldn't now.

Burning up alone like this was what Sam deserved.

Even when his consciousness started weaving in and out, losing time, Sam didn't dream of Lucifer again. He should have felt relieved by that. For some reason, he didn't.

Sam woke up again, but unlike the last half dozen times, he wasn't on the floor anymore. He was laying on his bed, no blanket over him because the fever would make that unbearable, but he could feel it laying in a heap at his feet when he moved a leg. He had no idea how he'd gotten there. Maybe he'd crawled up last time and forgotten. He grabbed out hazily in front of him, intending to drag himself back off of the bed and the mocking potential of a nest it held.

Someone took hold of his wrist and folded his arm back in close to his body. Their palm was cool. Sam's instincts sighed out, content and safe. Whoever it was brushed sweat-damp hair out of his face and then carefully sat him up. Sam grunted in protest, but when it came with the offer of a cold glass of water against his lips, he quieted. They tipped it up slowly, letting him drink at his own pace. It helped soothe his dry throat and the burning in his head. The glass was taken from him, and then the hand was back, stroking the side of his face so gently. It reminded him of Jess, or maybe Dean, or hell, even Bobby, the one time Sam had been seventeen and dropped at his place and it struck out of nowhere. Sam tilted his head into the touch and then, without thinking, he nosed at their palm until he found their wrist and the subdued scent glands there and inhaled.

They smelled as crisp as snow and sweet as a rose. They were, without a doubt, an Omega.

Sam didn't know any Omegas.

He forced his eyes open to figure out who the hell was caring for him. Some wandering good Samaritan who took pity on a fellow Omega in heat? Maybe one of Sam's new co-workers who had come to see why he wasn't coming in to work, one who wore scent blockers so good that even Sam couldn't pick them up, because he could have sworn everyone else at the bar was a Beta. And then he looked. And his breath caught.

Lucifer was still touching him, rubbing his thumb against Sam's temple while Sam scented him. He looked down at Sam, and he smiled. "I told you that you were hard to find," he said, "but not impossible. Not if I put my mind to it." Lucifer rested his hand flat against Sam's forehead, and Sam whined with how soothing it was against the heat of his fever. He lifted a hand intending to push Lucifer away, but ended up clinging to him instead, fingers wrapped around his arm. "Not if you need me," Lucifer finished, softly.

Lucifer shouldn't smell like safety. Like pack. Sam breathed him in greedily anyway. Whatever bond they had, it was weak, especially compared to the one Sam had shared with his brother before Hell, but he could feel Lucifer.

Sam had stayed with Alphas and Betas during heats. He'd never been with another Omega during one. It felt different. Sam always liked watching Dean pace the room, check the locks and salt lines, making sure their nest was safe. Now, he mostly wanted Lucifer to join him in the bed, come closer, let Sam bury his nose in his neck and take in his scent. When Lucifer pulled away instead, Sam whined.

"I know," Lucifer soothed, "I know." Fingers drifting through Sam's hair. "I have to finish with your nest. You aren't going back to sleeping on the floor." Sam blinked up at him, confused. The idea of Lucifer nesting was so... strange to him. He had no idea why Lucifer was an Omega at all. Most angels were Betas. It didn't make any sense. Lucifer hushed him again, and Sam laid still, turning everything over in his head. It didn't do much except make his headache worse. When Lucifer returned, he brought more blankets, more pillows, and he started building the nest properly. He paused once halfway through to get Sam more water, but otherwise, his attention was solely focused on giving Sam the softest, safest place to have a heat that he could create. When he finished, Sam was cuddled between fluffy pillows and covered with a sheet thin enough that it wouldn't make him feel overheated. Sam's head was starting to clear more as Lucifer stayed near, his scent mixing with Sam's own in the air. He sat on the bed next to Sam again. "What else do you need? Food?" Sam's stomach turned over at the mention, and he shook his head.

"Can I-" Sam stopped, torn between knowing what a terrible idea it was to ask anything of Lucifer and knowing how much better he could feel if he did. He reached for Lucifer's arm, tugging until Lucifer presented his wrist again, and Sam got to nose at the scent glands there a second time. The scent even made his headache fade slightly. Lucifer let him take what he needed.

"Why did you come?" Sam asked and knew Lucifer heard his real question, why now? If he had the ability to get to Sam whenever he wanted, why hadn't he? Why insist Sam would say yes and then not pursue him? Lucifer cupped his cheek.

"Like I said. You needed me." Lucifer shook his head. "If this was your attempt at killing yourself to keep me out, it was a poor one."

"It's a bad heat," Sam muttered. "It's not going to kill me."

"You have no idea how bad, do you?" Lucifer's tone turned to exasperated admonishment, like Sam was a beloved but simple pet who kept scratching up the floorboards. "You didn't have anyone with you. You didn't build a nest. You were unconscious and running a fever and-" Lucifer's scent soured, only for a brief second, one inhale, tinging the fresh-fallen snow with the sharp iron of blood. He calmed himself back down, probably sensing how Sam's own scent turned in response.

"What if I tell you to leave?" Sam asked, trying to hold on to that spark of fear that he knew he should have in Lucifer's presence but that was making itself so slippery between his fingers.

"I won't until this is over," Lucifer answered, "but if you still want me to after that, I'll go." He didn't sound happy about that. "You are going to say yes to me. I don't need to hound you about it."

"I won't," Sam's defiance, as ever, shone through. Lucifer tilted his head, smiling in a way that was both resigned and proud.

"I don't want to spend the time I have arguing with you. What do you need right now, Sam? More water?" Sam still had a hold on Lucifer's arm. There was half of a terrible plan coming together in his mind, born around the weak pack bond he had somehow formed with Lucifer while the devil took care of him through his heat. That had formed while Sam was unconscious. Pack bonds always went both ways, and now Sam had to wonder if that was true for more than this new bond. If Lucifer was as made for him as he was for Lucifer. If he was so sure he could convince Sam to his side, then shouldn't Sam be equally as sure he could convince Lucifer to his?

Maybe it was his heat talking. That would be a good excuse for later, if this went poorly.

Sam tugged on Lucifer's arm again, more insistently this time. Lucifer frowned, but Sam pulled him into the nest, all the way in to nestle between the pillows with Sam. Lucifer looked surprised to reap the benefits of his own creation. That wasn't where Sam was going to stop. He slid on top of Lucifer, focusing on their pack bond, focusing on the idea that Lucifer could be pack, that he could be synonymous with safety and comfort and home, and that meant Sam could be that, too. There was a certain irony in trying to tempt the devil himself, but Sam couldn't help it. Surely, out of anyone, after being banished and locked away, Lucifer would yearn for those things so much it hurt. Sam had, once, and all he'd done was run away to Stanford.

Lucifer was cold to the touch, and so Sam had every excuse to press against him, frustrated with the amount of clothing Lucifer was wearing. Lucifer touched him back, hands resting uncertainly on Sam's waist. Sam nuzzled against his cheek and his chest, darting back and forth, closing the distance to the much more sensitive scent glands at his neck. Sam would never do that with anyone else after having just met them in person for the first time, but part of Lucifer felt like they'd known each other forever and the other part like they'd know each other for the rest of time, so that mitigated some of the awkwardness. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd scented anyone, outside of sex (and even then, Ruby hadn't liked it. Sam could drink her blood, but he couldn't get a proper whiff of her.) He nudged his nose against Lucifer's chin until Lucifer tilted his head back against the pillow, exposing his throat. Sam pressed in close and took him all in.

(He wasn't going to bite and mark Lucifer. That definitely wouldn't be right, no matter how deeply they were entangled, but a small scrape of teeth disguised as a kiss made Lucifer shiver pleasantly.)

Lucifer's hands slid up his body until he curled them around the back of Sam's neck, keeping him close. Sam swore he could feel their bond strengthening, and to test it, he pulled back and swallowed before he tilted his own head to the side, exposing his scent glands to Lucifer.

For a too long moment, Lucifer hesitated, and Sam thought he'd been wrong about everything he could mean to Lucifer.

Then, Lucifer pushed himself up and nosed down Sam's throat to the gland, and he scented Sam just as thoroughly as Sam had him. Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Lucifer started purring beneath him, a very quiet purr, rough like it hadn't been used in a very long time. Sam let himself purr, too, matching Lucifer as they traded scents and the bond grew ever stronger.

That was when Sam said, "This goes away if I say yes."

Lucifer's purr stuttered and stopped. Its absence made Sam's chest ache.

"You can have it," Sam continued, bold now for all that he had to gain and for the little he had to lose. "I'll be your pack, but I can't say yes." He might actually be grateful to be in heat. Omegas in heat were supposed to be irresistible. He hoped Lucifer wasn't immune to that. He scented Sam again, a long intake of breath.

"This wasn't how this was supposed to go," Lucifer said, quietly.

"You came to me. You felt the bond form, and you didn't try to stop it," Sam said. "You want this. You can have it. You just have to... stop." He watched Lucifer resettle against the pillows that made up the nest. He looked like he belonged there. Sam wanted him to belong there. It was a terrifying feeling. "Don't burn the world down if we can build something in it." Lucifer opened his mouth to say something, closed it, made a face, and finally, when he spoke, he sounded so tired.

"Please, Sam, I said I didn't want to argue." Sam wanted to point out that this wasn't an argument, wasn't even close to becoming one, but he doubted that would help. He nodded instead.

Lucifer pulled him down so that they could scent each other again. The pack bond between them grew ever stronger. With any luck, Sam wouldn't have to tell Lucifer to leave after his heat was over.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[washa]

I listened to The Summit audio (part 3) and here’s my favourite personal comments/thoughts! (Erik sleep with one eye fucking open.)

Yeah istg Porter if it’s a joke or something I will strangle you until your eyes pop out like a looney toon character. 

Damn. I’ll sit 🙏

I mean they both got beheaded. What’s with Bad vampires getting beheaded??

Again. Why are they so jabby.

HUH??? WILLIAM WHAT NOW. WHY HOW HUH????

Banishment. What other definition of banishment is there 😕 

OH SHIT HE WAS A SECRET SPY KINDA SHIT? Treasure be fucking around with a spy 😭

William is a two faced bitch confirmed?? (Jokes promise, I always thought William is such an interesting character from his first video and this proves it.)

HE ORDERED YOU TO WHAT. HOW DID YOU GET DEMON BLOOD THEN??

Oh my god he killed them for their property and money. I mean like probably not just that but still. William come on. 😕

Yes Porter, I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS?? MANY FUCKING QUESTIONS

No, I figured that. HOW DID YOU GET DEMON BLOOD PORTER?

Erik is having a FIELD DAY writing this. 

Porter i’m not saying it was wrong to kill them, but maybe don’t kill them 😊

Mmm yk what i smell, Corruption.

Holy shit there could’ve been ANOTHER Inversion??

Vincent. Vincent do you hear yourself? 

So it’s like, whoever kills each other first.

They all supported it, God this is so fucked up 😭

A fucked up game of chess, a really fucked up game of chess. 

God I’m imagining the fanfics on Ao3 after this audio.

Let’s just not become vampires. It seems so shitty. Like what fucking benefits are there. 

“Sometimes that involves killing, sometimes it doesn’t. I act in service of the House of Solaire and its interests, whatever form that takes.” Treasure. Treasure dearest. PLEASE RUN. 

LIKE DON’T GET ME WRONG, Porter is such an interesting character, I wanna pick his brain. BUT Treasure needs to BOOK IT.

Vincent.. I'm so sorry. Lovely give him a kiss and a hug. I’m imaging the audio after this, like the aftershock videos. 

I’m sorry the way he said moustache 😭 

Vincent.. VINCENT 💔 God someone don’t tell Sam too unless he knows somehow.

Thank you Porter, talk your sassy ass into his heart. 

“He loves you, Vincent. He loves you enough to not want you to get your hand dirty.” SHUT UP SHUT UP 

I’M GONNA START SOBBING 

“He knows he never should’ve turned you. You are his biggest regret.” I’m gonna throw myself off a cliff.

I’m done, I'm done, LIKE I KNEW THAT WAS HAPPENING ABOUT THE REGRET. BUT OH MY GOD DOES IT HURT LIKE A BITCH HEARING IT STRAIGHT UP.

“Play nice.” It’s giving the same energy as “Down Boy.” 

Porter.. PORTER NO 😭 god they all need therapy. All of them. 

His genuine care for Vincent, Porter, Sam, Alexis and Lovely. Questionable dad of the year check!! 

“I drove, obviously.” Porter. 😒

No actually we do have time for your past, you just made Vincent rethink his.

“That’s the story of Porter Solaire. Bad, Worse, Better.” Now is it going to be good or horrible? Again Treasure tread lightly. 

What happened Porter, What happened to you? 😕

JUMPED YOU??? Oh Porter dearest. Oh Porter.. 

NO PORTER.. PORTER. 😭

“Now that they were mine to command.” “Make the new life for myself i’ve always wanted-” Watch me scream, WATCH ME SCREAM. 

WAIT NO THE “he sees me as a friend and you as a child. HIS child” HURTS MORE. SO MUCH MORE. 

After all William did for Porter, and now Porter saw that Vincent was given everything and more but threw it away out of anger. He got mad, Because as Porter said multiple times, Vincent never felt what he felt. And to see Vincent be cared for more, even if Porter was willing to do anything for William. OH MY GOD 😭

Porter, Thank you. I’m glad you both are healing in a way.

[artyandink]

we could be more | dean winchester | 18

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : HOUSE OF MEMORIES - PANIC!AT THE DISCO 

I opened my eyes, adjusting to the surroundings. Which was mostly blood. And fire. And more blood. “What the hell-“ 

“Hello, Ivonne.” I saw a demon in front of me, a short, pudgy man in a suit. He looked like a five year old with a big forehead. I chuckled, smirking. 

“Looks like I’m in it.” 

“We’re been waiting for you.” 

“Flattered.” I sniped. “Who are you?” 

“Demon.” 

“And you’re wearing a suit like you’re the boss? Keep dreaming.” He was silent, so I laughed again. “Oh, so you are? I was expecting more of an intimidating visage, really. But good on you, I supposed.”

“No-no.” He grunted distastefully, then put on the smirk again. “Lucifer’s… on holiday. My name’s Crowley, the demon who’ meant to handle you, and you’ve got the penthouse here. You’re in Hell, honey, and there’s no escaping.”

Dean woke up in a bed that wasn’t his, looking around in confusion. He got up and walked into the living room of the apartment, then took out his cell and called Sam.

‘Dean?’ 

“Sam?” 

‘What's going on?’ 

“I don't know. I don't know where I am.”

’What? What happened?’ 

“Well, the uh, the Djinn. It attacked me.” 

‘The gin? You’re drinking gin?’ 

“No, asshat. The Djinn. The... scary creature. Remember? It put its hand on me and then I woke up... in a weird place.”

Sam chuckled. ‘You mean your apartment, the place you live?’ 

“And Beanie… oh god, Beanie… she’s dead.”

’Who’s Beanie? Who is she, Dean?’ 

“Ivy. Our Ivy, don’t you remember her?” 

‘Dean, you're drunk. You're drunk-dialing me.’ 

“I am not drunk. Quit screwing around!” 

‘Look, it's late. All right, just get some sleep and, um, I'll ... see you tomorrow. OK?’ 

“Wait, Sam. Sam!” Sam hung up, so Dean searched his contacts. 

No Ivy.

“Dean.” Mary Winchester frowned when she saw her son at the door. 

“Mom?” Dean whispered, his voice breaking. 

“What are you doing here? Are you all right?” 

“I don't know.” 

“Well, come inside, then.” She led him inside, concerned. “What’s going on?” 

“Let me ask you a question. When I was a kid, what did you always tell me when you put me to bed?” 

“I-I don’t understand-“ 

“Just answer the question.” 

“I told you angels were watching over you.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I don't believe it.” He hugged her tightly, tears threatening to fall down his face. 

“Honey, you're scaring me.” Mary murmured. “Now just tell me what's going on.” 

“You don't think that wishes can, can really...” 

“What?” 

“Forget it. I’m just happy you’re here, is all.” He took her shoulders. “You're beautiful.” 

“What?” 

“Hey, when I was uh... When I was young was there ever a fire here?” 

“No, never.” 

“I thought there was.” He smiled. “I guess I was wrong. Dad's on a softball team.” 

“He loved that stupid team.” Mary chuckled. 

“Dad's dead? And the thing that killed him was a...” 

“A stroke. He died in his sleep, you know that.” 

“Hey, Nate. Nate!” A boy of around eight dashed down the stairs, jumping down the last three. A blonde woman who looked in her early 20s ran after him, while a slightly older guy followed at a slower pace. “Nathan Michael Rainer, get back here! You can play Captain America another time; your bedtime was fifty minutes ago!” The surname struck a chord, and Dean’s eyes widened. Could she…

“Lily!” The guy called, then threw up his hands in exasperation. He then turned to Dean and Mary in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Winchester, I didn’t know you were having guests around.” 

“No, that’s ok, honey, it was a surprise to me too.” Mary laughed, then gestured to Dean. “This is my elder son, Dean.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Dean held out a hand, which the boy shook. 

“You too, man. I’m Carter.” Carter grinned, then looked behind him. So… that was Carter Rainer.

“Hell of a grip.” 

“Back atcha. Excuse me, my brother’s on a sugar high. Shouldn’t have let him eat ice cream after seven. Or eat ice cream at all.” He jogged off, and Mary shook her head with a giggle. 

“Who’s…” 

“Oh, come on, Dean.” Mary sighed. “Carter’s Sam’s best friend and you definitely know this. You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “‘Course not.” 

“Well, Audrey and Michael’s kids are over for Christmas while they’re having their anniversary together in Hawaii. Though it’s hard managing Nate without- oh, speak of the angel.“ The doorbell rang, so Mary rushed to open it, the person behind her masked by the hug they gave each other. 

“I hope I’m not late to the party.” The voice broke Dean’s heart, and he had to gulp back tears, heading into the dining room to recover, but still peering through the door. She’s alive. “Is Nate in bed?” 

“Too much ice cream.” 

“Ok, so he’s a race car by now, got it.” Ivonne Rainer walked in, taking off her beanie and leather jacket, hanging it up. Then, just as Nate ran past, she scooped him up, making him giggle. “Someone’s not sleepy, huh?” 

“No!” Nate pouted, folding his arms. “I want to stay up, like the rest of you.” 

“Oh, but you’re sleepy, Nate.” She insisted. Then she moved her pointed in a loop around his face, his eyes following as the circle got smaller. “You’re getting sleepier, and sleepier, and boop!” She tapped his nose. “You’re really sleepy.” Nate yawned, and she smiled, kissing his forehead. “There we go.” Then she turned to Quinn, who emerged from the kitchen. “Quinn, you get the honour of putting Sleepy Nate to bed. I’ll help Mrs Winchester out.” 

“Sure thing.” Quinn smiled, taking Nate upstairs. Dean blinked; it was hard to look at her the same after seeing her as a dreamwalker, being the cause of Ivy’s death and also being a hardcore psycho. However, it was good to see her, well, normal.

Ivy turned to Carter and Lily. “You two better get some sleep too.” 

“We’re 23 and 20, sis, not 15 and 12.” Carter smirked, rolling his eyes. The ages at which they died.

“I’m 27, so I hold the cards.” Ivy retorted, ruffling Carter’s hair. “Head up, short stack.” 

“I’m four inches taller.” 

“You used to be four inches smaller.” 

“Yeah, when I was twelve.” 

“Go and I’ll get you a burrito for breakfast.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Lily and Carter saluted in sync and headed upstairs, and Ivy turned to Mary with a triumphant grin. 

“Madness fixed.” She laughed. 

“Thank goodness, I can finally rest.” Mary joked as they went into the dining room. Dean’s eyes instantly fell on Ivy, his breath hitching. She looked the same, except she looked happier. Less worn, and she had a tattoo of three flying birds on her collarbone. The scar on her eyebrow was the same, her freckles were in place, but she had a few more laugh lines, and she had dimples when she smiled. 

She looked beautiful to him. Well, she always looked beautiful.

“Should I put on a cup?”

“That would be amazing. Oh!” Mary exclaimed upon seeing Dean. She walked up to him, guiding him by the arm to face Ivy. “Dean, this is Ivonne, you haven’t met her yet. She works in the force in Jersey. Ivy, this is Dean.” 

“Dean?” Ivy smiled, giving him a look which made his knees weak. “The Dean? Big brother, Dean?” 

“That Dean, yeah.” Dean nodded, and they shook hands, though his hand lingered for a bit longer than he’d intended it to. 

“It’s great to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She grinned, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Been dying to see the dude that raised Sammy.” 

“Yeah. You’re, uh, you’re lookin’ at him.” 

“I’m glad I am.” She turned to Mary, taking her shoulders gently. Is this what she’d be like had her siblings survived? “Mary, I’m gonna set some dinner up for Dean in the kitchen, you relax. Watch some TV.” 

“Thanks, sweetie.” 

“No problem.” She shrugged, then turned to Dean with a crooked, winning grin that mirrored her usual one, making Dean’s heart leap from his chest. “D’you want dinner, or are you gonna keep standing there?” Dean blindly followed her into the kitchen, at a loss for words. “So, the Dean, what d’you do for a living?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Try me, why don’t you?” 

“I… I’m a… hunter.” 

She grinned, though there was a flicker of something else. “Not that hard, is it? Dad’s hobby was hunting before he married my mom. Taught me how to shoot, so I went in the force. Majored in Criminology and also did a side course in folklore.” 

“Shoo in at the academy, I’m guessing.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

“I might.” She didn’t respond, busy cutting a cucumber with surprising accuracy. He stared at her, and at the necklace hanging from her neck, smiling softly and almost breathlessly. “Good with knives too?” 

“Perks of havin’ a mom who’s good in the kitchen and a dad who’s good with guns.” She looked up, catching him staring. “Whatcha starin’ at?” 

“You.” He blurted, then caught his words. “You, uh, cause you’re… you’re beautiful.” 

“Thanks.” She giggled. “And here I thought you were the take it slow type.” 

“Oh-“ 

“I’m just kidding, you’re good. No harm in complimenting a woman.” She passed him a plate of salad and a plate with a burger, both of which he dug into happily. The salad? More reluctantly, but still. “If we’re trading compliments, then I think you’re handsome.” 

“Do you?” He chuckled, looking up. 

“I do. I say it like I see it.” 

“I’m familiar with it.” 

“So, Dean, got a special lady where you’re from?” She had a twinkle in her eye, and Dean bit his lip, smiling. 

“Yeah, yeah I do. I did.” He nodded. 

“You did?” Her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yeah, past tense.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it-“

“No, I can. It was a while ago.” He gulped, swallowing the tears. “I called her Beanie, cause she was always wearing one, but, uh, her name’s… Hazel.” 

“I’d love this Hazel.” Ivy smiled, sitting down with a cup of tea. “My middle name’s Hazel. Tell me more about her.”

”She was… badass.” A goofy grin spread across his features, lighting them up. “Always had a plan, always knew what to say. She’d set me straight if I needed to be set, and her smile…” 

“Let me guess, it can light up the room?” 

“Nah. It could cause a power outage.” 

“That good, huh?” 

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for y-her.” He caught his words. “If she was still here.” 

“Sounds like a lucky girl.” She smiled. 

You’re that lucky girl.

“No, I was a lucky man.” She made a face as if she was deducing something for a split second, then it looked like she pushed the thoughts down. 

“Do I- Do I know you from… somewhere?” 

“No.” He shook his head. “Probably not.” 

“You just seem…” She let out a sigh that bordered on nostalgic, “familiar.” 

“Like you’ve just met someone but you feel like you’ve known them forever?” 

“Pretty much.” She tilted her head. “You’re a strange one, Dean Winchester.” 

“And is that a bad thing?�� 

“I work in the force. Strange is a normal thing.”

The next morning, Dean woke up, and the first thing on his mind was the Djinn. Then he thought of someone who can help. He got up, walking over to where he thought Ivy would be, which was… making Nate eat his breakfast. 

“You’ve got it.” She ruffled his hair, then saw Dean. A smile lit up on her face, and she walked over. “Morning, Dean. Whatcha want for breakfast?” 

“To talk. To you.” He gulped, and a look of concern crossed her face. 

“Yeah, of course. C’mon, Mary gave me John’s study if I ever needed quiet time.” They went into a small room with well kept books on the shelves, and she shrugged. “What’s up?” 

“Do you have any books on folklore? Like… creatures and stuff? I’m curious about one.” 

She took off a book, the exact book she used to use when she was alive, flicking through it. “Mhmm. Which one?” 

“Djinn.” 

“Djinn… got it.” She tapped a place on the page. “I can barely read Ancient Greek, but what do you wanna know?” 

“If they can really grant wishes.” 

“Yeah, they… can.” Ivy furrowed her brow, staring at him weirdly. “Dean, these are mythical creatures. You can’t possibly think they’re real.” 

“I do.” He stepped forward, the coil in his head snapping. “And something tells me that you think the same.”

”What-“ 

“I know more about you than you think. Ivonne Hazel Rainer, born on January 9th, 1979 to Audrey and Michael Rainer. Your favourite colour is the orange the leaves turn in fall. Your favourite band is Led Zeppelin. During high school, you had a phase where you were a blonde babe.” 

“How do you-“ 

“Your leather jacket was your father’s. You stole Carter’s beanie, but that’s fine cause you got him another one for his birthday. Everything you know about fighting came from your dad.” 

She took out her gun, aiming it at him, fire blazing in her grey eyes. “Are you some kind of elaborate stalker? If you are, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out.” She flicked off the safety when the doorbell rang, and she put the gun down, putting the safety on. “You’re safe for now, douche.” She stored the gun in her waistband, hiding it with her shirt, then jogged down to the door and opened it to reveal Sam and Jessica. 

“Sam, man!” Carter yelled, and Sam grinned. 

“Carter!” They bro hugged, while Ivy hugged Jessica tightly. 

“How have you been?” She asked Jessica, who then started gushing about her day. Dean started talking to Sam, but found that their relationship wasn’t what it used to be. “Hey, Sammy.” She smiled. 

“Ivy!” Sam hugged her, but Ivy had to stand on her toes. “How’s work? Catch any bad guys?” 

“Loads. Now come on, I’ve made breakfast.” She looked up at him. “Am I shrinking or are you getting taller?”  

“Neither.” When they got inside and everyone headed to the kitchen, Ivy pressed her forearm to Dean’s collarbone and shoved him into a side room, pinning him to the wall. 

“How do you know so much about me, huh?!” She interrogated. “What are you, a psychic? Shapeshifter? Demon?” 

Dean’s eyes widened upon hearing it. “You don’t work in the force, do you-“

”Answer the question!” 

“I know all that because I knew you. In a place where you had a much worse life.”

”You’re lying.”

”Would I have your gun if I was?” Dean took out Ivy’s - his Ivy’s - gun, showing it to her. 

“My gun.” She breathed. “What… how?” 

“Girl called Hazel? That’s you. I somehow got into this reality where everything’s great, but it isn’t. There were newspapers in your office of incidents that I was meant to stop. With Sam and you. And you’re not meant to be alive.” 

“What are you talking about?”

”In my, uh, reality, you’re a lot rougher around the edges. That’s cause Quinn? She dies of cancer because your dad took her on a hunting trip that got her turned, and he OD’d her with dead man’s blood and made it look like cancer, so she died. Your dad dies because a dreamwalker carved his heart out. Then the dreamwalker, who you found out much later was Quinn, possesses Carter and makes him murder your mom, your then unborn brother Nate and Lily. Then you shoot him in self defence. All of this happened when you were nineteen, and you went on a monster killing spree until you were twenty six, which is when you met me. A year later, the dreamwalker comes back, and you reveal the truth. It forces you to kill your boyfriend and almost kills your dad. Now, you also had a rune preventing you from using sorcery that was meant to go to your brother. That could only be broken by a love sacrifice, and to break it you pushed me out of the way of Quinn’s attack and…” He paused, gritting his teeth, “you made me kill you.” 

“And why?” 

“So she couldn’t get to you again.” 

“You’re made of bull, you know that, right?” She scoffed, taking out her gun. “I don’t believe you. I really don’t.” 

“Look at me.” He ordered, “Look me in the eye, Beanie, and tell me if I’m lying.” 

“I don’t need to look you in the eye to tell.” 

“I loved you!” Dean burst out, breathing heavily. “Hell, more than I’d like to admit. I’ve tried to get over you, but I… I can’t.” 

“Still full of-“

“Just take one look at me and tell me whether I’m lying. Please, Beanie.” 

She sighed in defeat, then gave him a long, hard look. “You’re not, are you?”

”That’s what I was tryna tell you.” She let him go, biting her lip. 

“You better be telling the truth. Otherwise I’d skin you alive. In the meantime, we’ve got your mom’s dinner party.” 

A plate of asparagus was set in front of Dean, making Ivy chuckle. “Wow, that... looks awesome.”

“To Mary.” Ivy raised her glass. “Happy birthday.” 

“To Mary.” Everyone clinked their glasses together, sipping. Sam and Jessica shared a kiss, and Dean smirked. 

“What do you say, later we get you a cheeseburger?” She grinned, leaning closer to him. 

“You’re an angel.” Dean whispered.

“I know.” 

“How’d you become such a cool chick?” 

“Ask my dad, not me.” 

“All right. Jess and I actually have another surprise for Mom's birthday.” Sam announced, turning to Jessica. “Ah... You wanna tell 'em?” 

“They’re your family.” Jessica insisted. 

“Alright.” 

“What?” Mary asked excitedly. “Tell me what?” Sam held up Jessica’s hand, entwined with his, a ring flashing on it. “Oh my God! That's so wonderful.” We all stood up sans Dean, hugging each other. 

“Don’t forget the boys, Sam.” Carter grinned, clapping Sam on the shoulder. 

“Oh, come on, Carter.” Quinn chastised with a smile incredibly similar to Carter’s. What is he thinking? They’re twins, of course they’d be similar. “We’re so happy for you.” 

“And come to think of it,” Ivy teased, hugging Jessica, “you were both shyer than Carter in his teens when you met each other.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Sam rolled his eyes playfully. 

“That’s no way to talk to your marriage planner. Now, c’mon, we need to break out the champagne! And no, Lily, you’re underage.” 

“Come on!” Lily complained. 

“Lily, just one year.” 

“One year’s too long.” 

“Sorry, bite size.” Carter smirked, sipping champagne. “You’ve gotta wait.”

“You ok?” Ivy asked, sitting down on the sofa beside Dean and offering him a beer. He gladly took it, sipping it. 

“Sammy and I don’t get along.” Dean lamented, and she shrugged. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” 

“I can fix things with Sam. I can make it up to him. To everyone.”

”Doesn’t make a lick of sense, dude.” She took a sip. “My alternate version, what did she say to you before she died?” 

“She called me a dumbass.” He grinned, then faltered. “Said that she didn’t want to die so soon, but she had no option. She made me promise that I wouldn’t blame myself for her death, even though I’m the one that did it.” 

“She asked you to do it, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then don’t blame yourself.” She shrugged, then laughed. “She sounds like a smart girl.” Ivy turned, seeing him staring with the same look as yesterday. “What?” 

“You’re so much more happier here.” He chuckled. “It’s relieving. To know that if all that crazy shtick hadn’t happened, you might be… who you are now. You wouldn’t be so hard set, so averse to new opportunities-“ 

“What new opportunities?” 

“This.” With that, he cupped her cheek, kissing her. He pulled back almost instantly running a hand through his hair as he internally cursed himself for kissing someone who was a stranger to him in this world. “Damn, Ivy, I’m so sorry-“ He was pulled back in for another kiss, Ivy holding his shirt but then cupping the nape of his neck. Then something seemed to switch, and she pulled back, standing up. 

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but… no.” Ivy let out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head as she ran a hand through her hair. “Whatever this is? It comes from your love for your Ivy, not me. I can’t replace her, Dean. I’m not rough around the edges like she is. My family’s alive, Dean, and i’d very much like it to stay that way, but we need to get you back. To your family.” 

“I’ve only got Sammy left in my world.” He frowned, “I’m not sure I want to go back.” 

“Well, you need to, buddy.” She clapped his shoulder. “C‘mon, let’s get you to wherever the Djinn was.” 

“First…” He held a finger up, “I need a silver knife.” 

“You kidding me?! It’s 12 in the morning!” 

“I still need it!” 

“Fine, but get the largest one, yeah? I’m waiting in the Impala.” 

“You don’t have the-“ She held up the keys. “Yeah, should’ve known you’d swipe ‘em from my pocket.” 

“Mhmm. Meet me in the car.” 

Ivy was tapping the steering wheel impatiently when Dean got in, holding up the knife. Then after him came Sam. 

“Sam?!” She hissed to Dean. 

“Wha…” He turned to see Sam. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m coming with you.” He panted.

”No, he’s not.” Ivy refused. 

“You're just gonna slow us down.” Dean grimaced. 

“Us?!” Sam exclaimed indignantly. “What, is Dean some undercover cop?” 

“You could say that.” Ivy huffed. “Sam, this is dangerous and you could get seriously hurt.” 

“Well, tough.” 

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

”Nope.” 

“Ok, but don’t blame me and go crying to Jessica if you get hurt.” She floored it, driving off. 

“What's in the bag?” Sam asked, spotting the bag in between Dean and I. 

“Nothin’.” Dean sighed. 

“Nothin’?” 

“Nothin’.” 

“Fine.” He grabbed the bag, starting to open it. 

“Sam, you don’t wanna know what’s inside.” Ivy groaned. 

“Oh really?” He took out the container of blood, making her shake her head. “Blood?” 

“We needed a knife dipped in lamb’s blood.”

”You needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why?” 

“There’s this thing, a Djinn. We need to hunt it.” Dean explained. 

“Stop the car.” Sam ordered. 

“This is why I said you shouldn’t come along.” Ivy snapped. Sam pulled out his phone, dialling a number. 

“I mean, you guys are obviously having a psychotic breakdown, and-“ She grabbed his phone, throwing it out the window. 

“We’re not psychotic. This here? It’s real.”

”My phone-“ 

“Tough, kid.” She sighed. “Listen to me and listen to me carefully, Sam. I’m not a police officer. I’m what people like me call a hunter. And I hunt demons, ghosts, you name the supernatural creature, I hunt it. Dean does too. A Djinn grants wishes, and Dean here seems to be stuck in one. Got it?” 

“What about Carter? Lily, Quinn, Nate, do they know this?” 

“Nope. They don’t know a thing, and you’re not gonna tell anyone, you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear.” 

“Good. Now sleep.” 

“But-“ 

“Sleep.” 

They pulled up at the Djinn’s hideout, and Sam woke up with a jerk. “Where are we?” 

“Not in Kansas.” Ivy quipped, getting out of the car. “We’re in Illinois.”

”And you think there’s something in there?” 

“Yeah.” She nodded exasperatedly. “Yeah, he does. Let’s go.” They headed inside, but found nothing. Yet. 

“See? There’s nothing. C’mon, l-let’s just go.” There was a sound, and Sam yelped. “What the hell is that?”

”Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut.” Dean ordered. They stalked through the halls, then they split. Ivy checked on the bodies hanging from the stands, muttering under her breath. “What if that's what the Djinn does? It doesn't grant you a wish, it just makes you think it has.” Dean wondered, making her join them. 

“Listen, it might come back-“

”What if I'm like her? What if I'm tied up in here some place? What if all this is in my head? I mean it could, you know, maybe it gives us some kind of supernatural acid, and then just feeds on us slow.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

”It's - it's like more and more like I'm catching flashes of reality. You know, like I'm in here somewhere, and I'm - I'm catatonic, and I'm taking all this stuff in but I, but I can't snap out of it.”

”Yeah, OK, look. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're right. I was wrong. You're not crazy but we – we – we need to get out of here. Fast.” Sam tried to pull Dean with him, but Dean detached himself. 

“I don’t think you’re real.”

Sam took Dean’s arms, gripping them tight. “Dude, you feel that? You feel this? I'm real. This is not an acid trip. I'm real, and that thing is gonna come down here and kill us for real. Now, please—“

”There’s one way to be sure.” Dean pulled out the knife.

”Woah, what are you doing?” 

“It’s an old wives’ tale. If you’re about to die in a dream, you wake up.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no. That's crazy. All right?” 

“Do it, Dean.” Ivy urged, stepping forward. 

“You stay back!” Sam snapped harshly. Everyone appeared, surrounding him. “Why did you keep digging? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone, Dean?” 

“Because this isn’t real.” Dean shook his head. “Ivy’s meant to be dead.” 

“She’s alive here.” Carter insisted. “You love her. Don’t lose her.” 

“It's everything you want. We're a family again. Let’s go home.” Mary pleaded. 

“I'll die.” Dean whispered. “The Djinn'll... drain the life out of me in a couple of days.” 

“But in here, with us, it'll feel like years. Like a lifetime. I promise. No more pain. Or fear. Just love and comfort. And safety. Dean, stay with us. Get some rest.” 

“You don't have to worry about Sam anymore.” Jessica smiled. “You get to watch him live a full life.”

”Don’t listen.” Ivy begged. “What’s dead should stay dead, Dean. You’re not going to get anything out of this.”

”Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough? I'm begging you.” Sam stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Give me the knife.” 

“Do it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dean lifted the knife, plunging it into himself-

I gasped, my eyes flying open as I tried to sit up, but my head collided with wood. Straight wood. 

“What’s going..?” I panted, looking around, but meeting the boring sight of oak each time. “Am I in a coffin?” 

I started banging on the ceiling, yelling out. 

“HELLO?!”

”IS ANYONE THERE?!”

”I’M BURIED ALIVE!”

Oh boy.

A/N Time!

I feel like I should explain this episode. Dean loves Ivy, as he revealed, but his idea of a dream world with Ivy is her living the life she was supposed to, where her family’s alive. It’s also where she’s getting with him on HER terms (my sweet boy’s a gentleman) and not because it’s what he wants. And she encourages him to stab his elf because the Djinn made a mistake when interpreting that Ivy’s ‘always on Dean’s side’ because she encouraged him to break free.

Anyway, that’s enough wafflin’ from me.

Love y’all, and feel free to comment, reblog and like!

Arty :)

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[anassemblageofpassions]

Sam’s monologue in 8x21 is so so fascinating and encompasses his character so so well and it’s so utterly heartbreaking.

Because if you think about it, when he says “I could never go on a quest like that”, the first thought might be: Sam, you already have. You took control of the literal devil and threw yourself down to hell.

But here’s the thing: Sam doesn’t view that as some grand quest; he views it as redemption. A justified consequence for breaking the final seal and for being fed demon blood and using his powers.

And so now he wants to take on the trials in order to purify himself so that he can be a hero. He’s always wanted to be pure, a hero, go on a quest, just like dean and his dad always did, when they always left him behind. Was it because there’s something inherently wrong with him? Because he’s weak?

The problem must be with his family. So he tries to be normal, like everyone else, tries to be perfect, is set on course for his dream. And then it all goes up on flames, everything burns, the woman he loves burns, and he’s forced back into his old life, but he tells himself it’s the demons fault now, once azazel is dead, he can be normal, he can be clean.

But then he gets the real answer: demon blood. It was always about the demon blood. Azazel defiled him as a baby and it’s not something he can ever rip out or scrub clean, it’s him, it’s always in him. His family hunts monsters and he is one. No wonder he doesn’t tell Dean. When he does, it’s only at the point where he’s somewhat affected himself and is using his power for good, because okay, he can’t ever be clean, he’ll use that uncleanliness to save the world even if it kills him. And then it turns out that it was a trick and he broke the final seal. And not only that, but he was created for lucifer, and everything in their lives and their families’ lives has been for Lucifer. It’s all his fault, all because of his inherent uncleanliness.

And then there’s a way out, and he takes it. Eternal suffering for deans freedom and his own freedom from his destiny, eternal punishment for what is inherently in him. And then he gets out, and he’s suffered enough that he finally doesn’t feel so guilty anymore, even if the uncleanliness can never be ripped out. His soul is as fucked up as his body now, and he finally feels like he’s paid his penance.

So he finally feels worthy enough to seek normalcy after deans death, after it seems everything’s taken care of. He knows things won’t be rosy like with jessica, he’s infinitely older now but he’s suffered enough, now that he’s paid penance for his existence surely he can find some happiness?

And then things go south and dean beats into him again and again how deeply he fucked up and he gives up all semblance of a desire for normalcy. There is no way to win, he feels wrong again and he will always be inherently bad just like he always was. He takes on the trials and they’re purifying him. Finally, there’s a way to cleanse himself of demon blood, a way to find redemption from dean, a way to actually save the world, and if he dies, so what? He will finally be free, he will finally be clean.

But dean stops him. This isn’t what his brother wants, so it’s not his redemption. But then he’s possessed against his will, and this time the wrongness, the evil was caused by dean. He thought it was all him, as always, but this time it was dean. Dean made him unclean, dean put blood on his hands that he never wanted to be there. So of course he’s angry. The problem is dean.

But Dean is still his brother and he loves him and then dean is dead and he can’t handle it, and it’s his fault because he rejected dean, so he chases him down because now Dean is impure too, and he purifies dean as best he can at whatever cost he can, because he would rather die than have his brother experience what he did, because the problem isn’t something that’s inherently in dean, it’s the mark, and dean can come back, he will one day, Sam won’t fight him, he’ll accept whatever abuse is doled out because sam inherently deserves it but dean doesn’t.

And so Sam spends the rest of the series, at least most of the time, deferring to dean once the mark is off. Because Dean is clean again now, and Sam isn’t. Sam will always be unclean, because his birth was constructed that way, and because he was violated as a child and it irrevocably changed him. Dean is the righteous man. He is only corruptible by outside forces, and even then, he knows best. Sam is inherently evil, and he will only seek normalcy again because Dean is gone. This time, forever.

[quietwingsinthesky]

If you are still taking prompts how about a scene with lucifer worshipping sam like hes heavenly gift - basically just luci giving sam a self-esteem boost (because tbh sam really needs one)

hello anon! i think this one got a little... weird? but i hope it's what you were looking for :3

When Sam says that he is unholy, it’s resigned. 

Deaths around me since I was born, he presents as evidence, without Dean or Dad vouching for me, I think I would’ve been shot before I turned eighteen. Always knew there was something wrong, deep down. Demon blood rotting my veins.

He doesn’t list Lucifer as one of the reasons he’s damned. Not to his face, if he does believe it, but Lucifer doesn’t think so. They’ve spent too long entangled. Sam knows his sins as well as his punishment, his part in the grand play and how few scenes he was written to be in before curtain call. Blame grows like vines up a wall, reaching higher and higher for who was actually at fault. Sam was going to be Lucifer’s from the moment he fell, but Lucifer was always going to fall. Placing the onus on God is harder for someone who never met him. (Lucifer speaks as someone who can’t despite that. Even closing his vessel's eyes can make him feel trapped, and he still loves the God who caged him.)

So, the vines reach nowhere before they’re torn down by Sam himself beside the tall stone. He takes their straining bodies and wraps them around himself to mimic chains when no one else will bind him. He leads himself to the gallows to choke for betrayals he had no control over. He thinks he’s to blame for being a baby who smiled at a stranger over his crib before the sour taste of sulfur splashed on his tongue. Someone has to be punished for it. 

If a stay in Hell couldn’t make him feel pure, how does he think tearing himself apart will?

Sam is stubborn, but he was made in Lucifer’s image and they both learned from hardheaded older brothers how to stand their ground. As many times as Sam tries to tie his own noose, Lucifer will sit beside him and undo the knots without judgment. 

After all, Sam threw him back into Hell, and Lucifer still loves him. He can’t blame Sam for anything.

His greatest crime, Sam always claims, was freedom. He knows this, taught to him by Heaven’s sifted memories and his brother’s scowl at his happiest moments. Lucifer is hungry for every minute of Sam’s life that he missed, and though most scars are ones Sam will tell stories about in detail, (“-two of them coming at me, with claws as long as my forearm, and one got lucky-“) Lucifer had an easier time wrangling the horsemen than he does getting Sam to tell him about Stanford. 

It’s strangely easier for Sam when Lucifer wears another face. With long blonde hair falling around his shoulders and soft brown eyes and a mole between his brows that Sam will press a kiss to, he’s allowed to hear about that secret life. Sam doesn’t call him Jessica anymore, but when he tells Lucifer about her, he holds him like he's half-memory, half-dream. He talks about his other friends, faces that, if he’s lucky, he hasn’t seen in years, and if he’s not… Lucifer still has yet to drag that out of him, even though he knows already about the devils on Sam’s shoulder before him. 

Lucifer kept track of exactly how long he was locked away, on Earth and in Hell. On Earth, he measure it against the rise of man’s empires. As for Hell, humans haven’t bothered to invent a number that high. Most of the stars he watched be created and grew alongside are now younger than him by millennia. 

So it is not lightly that Lucifer tells Sam that freedom is never a sin.

He’s not sure Sam believes him. 

Sam will take on every burden tossed his way. Most people seem happy to let him. Lucifer will not see him crushed. He’s too lovely for that. Too important. (After all, he’s Lucifer’s entire world. That must mean he’s the center of the universe, more gravitational pull that the sun.)

It has to be like this: in the shade of the Bunker’s main building, where the grass grows a deeper shade of green than the other side because the soil is better for reasons Lucifer is still puzzling out, Lucifer pushes Sam into a wall and kisses him. Sam makes a noise, surprise, but he came out on Lucifer’s invitation for some fresh air and he doesn’t push him away. There are dandelions growing in the crack between the cement and the ground it sticks out of. Lucifer nudges Sam’s feet gently to the side so that he doesn’t accidentally step on one. 

“If you wanted somewhere we could make out in private, my door has a lock,” Sam says as Lucifer breaks the kiss to let him breathe. His lungs expand and deflate in a strong, steady rhythm. His heart beats calmly. Lucifer listens to it. He’d gotten used to spending entire nights keeping track of Sam’s heart, fear gripping him every time it would skip a beat or weaken. The trials would have taken everything from Lucifer. He is sick of his Father’s ultimate sacrifices or how Sam always seems to be the one who must lie down on the altar. 

“That’s not it,” he says. He kisses Sam again for the easy joy of it. Sam melts into him. He has mostly recovered thanks to Lucifer’s attention, but sometimes, the weakness will strike back again. Sam’s gotten very used to leaning on Lucifer. “I want you to understand something.” Sam’s mouth curves into a smile. Lucifer lifts a finger to trace the dimple that forms. 

“What?” he asks. 

“How good you are,” Lucifer says. He can feel the words rip through Sam worse than any barb, and that hurts. He’s more used to insults than praise, no matter how Lucifer tries to make up the difference. 

“Lucifer, that’s not-“ Sam tries for the first time to push him away, and though Lucifer allows distance between them, he doesn’t let Sam run from this. Not when he needs it. Instead, he runs his fingertips gently over Sam’s skin while he’s kept at arm’s length. Sam relaxes under his touch, never fully, but Lucifer is still reintroducing him to all the love he’s allowed to have. He trails his touch up Sam’s arm to the hand keeping him at bay, firmly clasping Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer wraps his hand around it.

“This world doesn’t deserve you as its savior,” he tells Sam. Sam shakes his head, and Lucifer wonders which part he’s denying more, that he’s too good for the world or that he ever even saved it. They were both there in Stull, two parts of one whole, but somehow it’s only Lucifer who remembers it for the victory it was. “It’s lucky that you don’t care. That all it would take is one decent soul to convince you it’s worth it. They don’t even have to be pure. They just have to be trying to do better, and you’ll walk into fire for them.”

“That’s just my job,” Sam downplays. 

“No, your job is to hunt. No one makes you care. You’ve chosen to do that all on your own, no matter how hard it is.” Because it is hard, even for Sam. He’s as human as the rest of them. He gets frustrated and angry and hurt. He extends kindness anyway. 

Lucifer should know. Who else would find the devil half-dead on their doorstep while trying to close Hell and still bring him in from the cold? Who else would have given him a second chance he never earned?

Sam’s grip on his shoulder falters. Lucifer leans back in until his mouth meets Sam’s again. 

“I wish I could share how I see you, Sam,” Lucifer says. “You shine so bright.” Sam laughs bitterly like Lucifer’s told a poor joke.

“I went to Hell,” he argues. “I couldn’t even finish the final trial. There’s nothing pure, nothing bright, about me.”

“Hell tried to snuff you out. The trials tried to burn you until there was nothing left. You are so much more beautiful for having survived them.” And beautiful makes Sam flinch. Something Lucifer knows for certain: before him, no one had ever called Sam that, except maybe as a joke. Handsome, sure, and he is, but he’s beautiful, too, and Lucifer needs him to believe that. He will, one day. Lucifer is nothing if not persistent.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” Sam whispers. Lucifer bumps his forehead to Sam’s, and Sam’s hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck and hold him close.

“Someone should,” Lucifer says. He shuts his eyes and thinks for ways to make Sam understand how much this matters. It goes beyond simple pride. 

And maybe that’s how to show Sam he’s serious. 

Lucifer presses one more kiss to his lips to steel himself. His grace recoils at the vulnerability of what he wants to give Sam, but he wrestles it into obedience. Sam is blinking back tears, mostly succeeding but for one or two that glance off his cheek as they escape the tip of an eyelash. Lucifer kisses the wet spots they leave. 

Arduously, he forces himself to his knees. The very concept of him rebels against it. He sits at Sam’s feet like the dandelions beside his heels. It takes everything in him to gaze upwards at Sam and see his expression. Sam’s mouth is agape. His hair falls forward into his eyes as he looks back down at Lucifer. He can’t seem to remember how to speak, and that’s just as well because Lucifer can’t either. He reaches up for Sam’s hands and manages to capture both of them in his own.

Sam is leaning back against the wall. Lucifer tips into him. His thighs lift off of his heels as he pushes himself forward. He rests his head against Sam’s stomach.

It’s peaceful. Lucifer won’t go as far as to say that he feels like he belongs there, but it’s nostalgic, in a way. He forces the air out of his vessel’s lungs. It makes the bottom of Sam’s shirt ruffle. 

One of Sam’s hands escapes Lucifer’s. It finds its way to the back of Lucifer’s head, and the uncertain scratch of nails over his scalp settles him enough that he can speak again.

“You are good,” he tells Sam. “You are good. You are good.” He repeats himself. He’s out of practice with prayer. He hopes the mantra will do. Maybe Sam can teach him a thing or two later.

Sam listens, and maybe, Lucifer hopes, he starts to believe it.

[tigerlilynoh]

Please tell me about • Cybernatural Short: Prequel

❤️🩸🖤

It’s a short fic (probably end up being less than 10k) about Sam’s demon blood binge mentioned in Cybernatural. It revolves around him hunting a demon crime syndicate, meeting Nima, and helping her gain power, while also resisting Dean and Castiel’s attempts to capture him. The story ends with the confrontation at Twilight Plaza.

It’s a fun but challenging exercise in writing a version of Sam that toes the line between self-interest and villainous. Honestly, the writing process is all just me making heart eyes while writing Sam and Nima being menacing together.

Snippet below:

“What the hell is he?”

“He drinks the blood of demons,” Nima told the nest’s leader.

The brutish man scoffed. “It’s poison. Nobody can—“

“I’ve seen it.”

Sam could see Nima’s muscles coil subtly and her jaw set. For some reason he got the distinct impression that everyone else was mistaking it for nerves or desperation. To him it was obvious that she was seething. She’d just survived torture by the enemy, witnessed something that was evidently unheard of, and was now being called a liar in front of her entire nest. Not only was the leader being blindly stubborn to his own harm, the guy might be an obstruction generally. Life was too short to endure the likes of such nuisances.

He looked at Nima while gesturing at the supposedly powerful vampire. “Do we need him?”

The nest leader stepped forward and hissed, “Who the fuck do you think—“

Sam telekinetically threw him into the ceiling and held him there without turning his attention away from Nima. His body tensed a bit from the strain causing more blood to drip from his injured shoulder.

“If you don’t need him, I’m just gonna kill him. Okay?” Sam told her.

“Wait!” shouted the former leader, but Nima gestured at him in a dismissive way.

In an instant the man’s head was literally torn from his body. A huge amount of blood poured out onto the filthy tile floor. Sam used some of his diminishing strength to telekinetically throw both pieces of the corpse to the side of the room. It had taken real effort to make that demonstration, but he trusted that every other vampire there would think twice before trying to fight him.

[spnbangbang]

Title: Nativity in Black

Author: LadyKnightSkye

Artist: demonicsoulmates-art

Primary Ship: Lucifer/Dean Winchester

Other Ships: Past Mary Winchester/John Winchester, Past Jess Moore/Sam Winchester, Past Karen/Bobby Singer, Past Lucifer/Eve

Length: 15000

Warnings: Brief threats of sexual violence with John Winchester as a vessel; Implied/Referenced Torture; Kidnapping/Imprisonment by friend/family;

Tags: Dom/sub elements; coming untouched; bondage; Genderbending; Always-a-girl!Dean; John Winchester Tries; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Protective Lucifer; Discussions of sexism;

Posting Date: September 20, 2023

Summary:

The Lord tells Michael that a time will come when a Righteous Woman will be born and then her Demon Blooded Brother. He will descend and open the first seal to eventually ride at Lucifer’s side as the Boy King of Hell. Michael will take the Righteous Woman and crown her the new Queen of Heaven. Then the forces of Heaven and Hell shall war for the fate of all Creation. This is their Father’s will.

Too bad neither of his sons particularly feel like following it.

Enter Dean Winchester, the Righteous Woman. She’s capable and strong, but her family doesn’t seem to get that she’s more than ready to take on an uppity Archangel and an army of demons. They stuff her in a cage, and then are so surprised when she and Lucifer find themselves with something in common . . .

Excerpt:

“Well, well, well,” Azazel drawled from John Winchester’s mouth, “Dean, Dean, Dean. What a pretty little lady you’ve turned out to be.”

Dean stared with horror into the yellow eyes shining from her father’s skull. It was her father’s voice too, but the cadence, the turn of phrase, was completely different. She tried to struggle, tried to pull her wrists away from the wall. The demon had trapped her with her arms over her head, the tendrils of his power sliding over her torso and legs. To her horror, she could feel heat starting to pool low in her belly. She liked being held down, she liked the predatory way he was moving towards her, around her. She didn’t want to be turned on, hoped that the demon didn’t try to kiss her with her father’s mouth, but couldn’t stop the clenching of her core. “Fuck you,” she snarled.

“Mm, as much as I would love to take you up on the offer, I have a better fate for you,” Azazel breathed, leaning in close to Dean’s face. She turned her head away, slamming her eyes shut when she felt the drag of chapped lips on her jaw and neck. “Do you know how Lucifer fell? What his crime was that led to our creation?”

She growled and thrashed.

“The same thing that led to yours,” the demon hissed. “He fucked Eve in the Garden, and Daddy God didn’t much like that. So he threw him down below for the high crime of falling in love with a pretty pair of green eyes.”

On the far wall, Sam’s breath hitched. Dean’s eyes snapped over and flew to Azazel’s. “Oh yes, Dean-o,” Azazel laughed. “You’ll make a wonderful gift to my lord and father. A pretty little huntress with Eve’s eyes. And maybe once he’s done filling all of your holes he’ll let me have a crack at that little cunt of yours.”

The picture he painted leapt fully formed into Dean’s mind. She imagined being held down while a being more potent than anything she’d ever faced wrapped her in power just like this. She imagined a deep voice rumbling at her, commanding her to bend to him. She didn’t want to admit it, but the idea of the Devil taking her, holding her down and fucking her ruthlessly, made her even hotter.

Azazel leaned into her neck, kissing it gently. “Mmm, maybe I’ll even keep this body. Your father is screaming.”

That knocked Dean right back into reality. “Please! Fight it, Dad!” she pleaded. “Please!”

The yellow retreated from John’s eyes. “Shoot me,” he growled, and Sam managed to oblige him.

[safetypinned]

@murderdeals (crowley) || big, long gore / horror prompt meme || accepting!

034   ...   red room

took sam a long time to track down where they were stealing away these women to. vampires. providing a service to the sick and twisted rich few. the entire ring was run out of an old asylum/ tuberculosis hospital about six miles out of the city. creepy place. bars on the windows. broken glass on the ground floor and darkened, shadowy mirrors to the outside world on the uppers. marked on a map was a stormcellar door that appeared to have a modern lock. looked like something a random security guard or maintanence would use. like the place was left but not forgotten. nor willing to be parted with.

what sam saw when he, finally, got into the website? and their cameras filled the screen? made him sick in the stomach to the point he almost threw up. women being fed on. torn apart by hungry fangs and claws. tortured and screaming victims. some where alone and trying to scratch their way through walls made of stone and concrete til their nails were ripped off and their fingers bled. voices hoarse from all the screaming. or the gaping holes in their necks. barely healed. some not even bothering to be shut. before, they too, were shredded into bits all for the prying eye of some sick bastards that were getting off on this shit. he blew up dean's phone the minute he had the hard hit on the location. and his alias had an instant messaging offering to come and watch.

sam's thumbnail was turned into a mess as he sat there, chewing on it and waiting for the call back that was taking too DAMN LONG. made him wonder what the hell was going on with his brother. dean don't make me come find you. the longer he sat? the more he decided, fuck it. took him only a little while to jog there from the busstop the cab dropped him off at. three miles into the woods and down a hill into the clearing where the place sat would've been even faster if it weren't for the bag on his back. he almost finished with the code that appeared in his messenger when, just before he hit pound, he heard something swing through the air. his world flashed brilliantly white for a split second. then BLACK.

that was about two hours ago. before sam woke in one of the rooms he saw on the cameras. a little bundle of red lights beamed his way from the corner. the taste of chemicals and rot in the back of his mouth. blood trickled down his nose. a voice told him to hold on. they'd be right with him. and..they were. two vampires. one entered carrying his bag. and one of the vials of dead man's blood in his hand. inspecting it with bared fangs. his cuffed hands provided no shield to the steel toed boot that swung up and caught him in his ribs. a grunt separated his lips and sam spit out the blood he coughed up with a heaving breath. 'we're gonna send you back to your brother in a jar.. that's all that's going to be left.' reddened teeth were bared behind the winchester's pulled back lips. sam spit another glob of blood towards them. anger. rage. long took over fear. he was lured here. he fucked up. is he pissed off more at himself or them and what the hell they were up to? hard to tell. the smell of sulfur fills his senses. doesn't seem to get the attention of his captors as they advance, sam's trying to work his hands free from his bindings. a familiar little cough. the sound spun all their heads around towards the demon standing directly behind them. crowley??

[alleiradayne]

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault.

After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be.

Everything but Castiel, that is.

Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets that wish, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Chapter 3

Summary: Dean attempts to drink himself to death only to end up wandering back down to the archives in a worthless attempt to clean up his mess. Warnings/Tags: Suicidal ideation, alcoholism, extreme consumption, blackout drunk, lots of self-hatred, trauma Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester Word Count: 2300

Dead. 

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault.

Him and his ego with his hot headed plan. Why? Why did it have to go tits up? After everything they’d been through. Why had it all gone to hell in a handbasket at the eleventh hour?

Christ, he sounded like a broken record.

“I got you, Jack, just hang on.”

He flopped over onto his side, face half buried in his pillow as he reached into the darkness. Why couldn’t he just black out already?

“I have to get away. You have to get away from me.”

Not enough liquor in Lebanon to put him under.

“Don’t let me hurt you.”

Thick glass scraped across the bedside table when his fingers found it, scoring the wood as Dean dragged a whiskey bottle to him. For fucks’ sake, they were the good guys. They were supposed to win, dammit. Heroes don’t kneel to piss-baby gods. Not even Chuck. That dickbag had used them, made them dance to his tune. Like puppets on strings. That’s all they were, all they’d ever been. Even before they were born, it had started with their parents. Then the demon blood. Lucifer, Michael, Heaven and Hell. All of it had been for Chuck’s amusement. Pawns. None of it had ever been real.

Real.

“You asked what about this was real. We are.”

We.

Dean threw back the bottom of the bottle and chugged. The room had stopped spinning hours ago, his throat numb to the whiskey’s sting. Numb. In all the worst ways. Drowned by alcoholic hopelessness. A coma would be better than this living nightmare.

He wished he could forget. But that skip in the record just kept coming back around. The needle hopped it every time and son of a bitch why couldn’t someone just turn the fucking table off. Brain bleach should be a thing. What he wouldn’t give to erase the last forty-eight hours.

Erase? Or redo? He needed a mulligan.

Milligan?

Wait, what?

“I cared about the whole world because of you.”

No. Not again. Fuck this noise. Dean switched on his lamp, then rolled from his bed and shuffled across his room to the sink. On his way, the room pitched and he stumbled. He reached out with both hands, forgetting the bottle still clutched in his fist. It slammed against the porcelain and shattered. The last of the whiskey poured down the drain along with the dredges of his dignity. A stray shard slipped through his palm in his attempt to clean up the mess, slicing his calloused skin, and he hissed like a cornered cat.

Damn glass. He grabbed a bandana hanging from the nearby coat rack and wrapped it around his bleeding palm. Between his teeth, he grabbed one end and pulled it tight by the other in his free hand. Shooting pain lanced through the cut, and Dean groaned against it. The fabric soaked through immediately, crimson with his blood. He watched deliberately, allowing droplets to fall into the sink. Little rivers of red ran down the porcelain into the drain. Funny. It reminded him of blood running from a sigil. Painted on a door in haste. To protect them.

He returned to the mirror and twisted. A large, bloody handprint covered his left shoulder. His own right hand fit over it, though he dared not touch. Might be wet still. 

Piece of shit God. Fucking Billie. Bastard Cosmic Entity. Why couldn’t they all just leave them alone? Just for five fucking minutes?

“You changed me, Dean.”

In  his reflection, he found his eyes, and froze. Holy hell, he looked like shit. Like he’d gone ten rounds with… with whatever. Something. Fuck, he could hardly think. Bloodshot and sunken eyes stared back at him, blank. Unseeing. Lifeless.

“I love you.”

Castiels’ voice echoed like a muted line from someone else’s memory, and Dean shook as his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Scalding rage consumed his loathing pity, and he shoved back from the sink. There had to be something. Even if it accomplished fuck-all, he had to try at least.

Right?

That was what he should do. Get clean, sober up. Somehow. His head rolled from one shoulder to the other in a worthless attempt to find clarity. Or so he thought. Out of the corner of his blurry vision, he spotted a large wooden box sitting on the shelf below his mirror. On the cover, a small human skull stood out, engraved into the wood. The bright red lacquer snapped him out of his delirium. He reached for it, fumbling the cover twice before it clattered to the floor and revealed an oversized brass key. Had to be a sign.

Right?

Key in hand, Dean bumbled to his bedroom door and swung it open a little too enthusiastically. It rebounded off the opposite wall, then swung closed on its own behind him. Shuffling steps carried him down the hallway, and he shook his head. Okay, the walls were definitely spinning again. And he had no clue where Sam and Jack were. No point in looking for them, though. It was his fault after all. They shouldn’t clean up his mess. So he stumbled along, empty hand trailing against the tiled wall. Like a divining rod, he followed the cool stone, always turning left, until he suddenly found himself staring at the debris spilling from 7B in the archive suite.

At the far end, the door to the research room stood closed. All he had to do was skip over a pile of stone and plaster. Then he could beat down Billie’s door, just like she had theirs, and get some fucking answers. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter much to him if she was there. Hell, maybe he’d find a way to kill Chuck. Even if it meant dying, he’d take it.

Dean tripped over his first step, catching himself on a nearby door frame. He slurred a string of profanity as the key chafed against his bleeding palm, piercing through the bandana, and he nearly dropped it. Idiot. Just keep it together another thirty feet. Suck it up. Like you always do. Bury it and keep moving. He’d have to. Drowning it hadn’t worked. What other choice did he have?

None. Typical.

With an intentional breath, Dean navigated the debris. Every step felt like a marathon, so deep in his cups. But he pressed on. And once the cool metal of the furthest archive door handle graced his palm, he toppled again, falling through and collapsing on the cement floor. Darkness pressed in at the edge of his mind, a vicious current threatening to pull him under. He nearly gave in. Son of a bitch, he wanted to. He’d drunk enough whiskey to put down a horse for a reason.

And yet…

Dean pushed the concrete floor away, rising to his hands and knees. One foot propped him up, then the next scuffed beneath him, and he stood. If you could call it standing. More like floating. Or listing. Yeah. Like a boat taking on water. Water made of whiskey.

A violent shake of his head accomplished next to nothing except nauseating him. Fuck, man, focus. Get your shit together. Dean scanned the room and spotted the empty brick wall beside the research table. His feet betrayed him, clipping a leg on the nearest chair, and he caught himself against the low back. The room pitched suddenly, and that acidic, sour taste filled his mouth. No. Not here. Shit, don’t puke in the archives again. Sam had nearly throttled him the last time. Might have been because he’d spewed all over a collection of “irreplaceable” Sumerian texts. Had it not been for Castiel, Sam would have absolutely beaten the piss out of him.

Castiel.

Another deep breath filled his lungs, settled his stomach, and Dean straightened. Resolve stiffened his spine and set his shoulders, his jaw. Then he rounded the end of the table and shambled towards the nearby wall, key in his outstretched hand. But unlike when he and Castiel had attempted to corner Billie, nothing happened. No light, no doorway, no keyhole appeared when he reached the brick. Nothing happened. He took two steps back and approached again. Maybe he’d done it wrong.

But again, nothing happened. Which was fine. Wasn’t like he had hoped for much. In fact, he’d known all along it wouldn’t work.

But then why did he still feel so fucking awful?

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Fuck. Keep it together. Breathe. But he couldn’t. His throat closed up, constricting, and his eyes burned as tears blurred his vision. Damn baby. He ground his teeth, fighting it all back, pushing it down, burying it again. But all the pain, the anger. It swept him up, sucked him under, and he caved. The tears spilled over in waves, cascading down his cheeks, and racking sobs shook him from head to toe. He wanted more than anything to stop, to put a damn cap on it and just fucking stop bawling like a whiny bitch. Forget it all happened. Soldier on.

But he couldn’t. This time he just… couldn’t.

He had to get it out. The words clawed at his ribs, his heart. If he held it in any longer, it’d kill him. A tiny part of him wished he could let it take him out. But there was no stopping it now.

“Cas…” he began. “I hope you can hear me… wherever you are.” He paused again, another wave of emotion overwhelming him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the ache. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I should have said something.” Gasping sobs heaved his shoulders, and he hammered his fist on the brick wall. “I… son of a bitch, why did you do it? Why are you always so fucking self-sacrificing? I need you here, man, not dead and gone. You’re useless to me like this, more than useless.”

None of that had helped. He had to calm down, had to settle his racing heart, his shaking hands. Get a grip, man, you’re just as useless this way. He turned his back to the wall and breathed in through his nose, then exhaled slowly through his open mouth. Another deep inhale filled his lungs and he held it. 

Focus. Pick something. He started with his heart, reining in the race. Another breath. Shoulders next. Down from the ears. His jaw. Unclench. Then his fists. Let go. A third breath. Head. Concentrate. Find the words.

“I love you.”

The memory replayed clear as a bell that time. More than Castiel’s death, his last three words haunted Dean like a restless spirit. And yet… that wasn’t quite it, either. The words themselves? Yeah, that tracked. Of course Castiel loved him. Duh and, or hello. No, what had left Dean feeling like the biggest asshole to have ever assholed had absolutely everything to do with the fact that, in Castiel’s most vulnerable moment of his entire existence, Dean had balked.

“Don’t… don’t do this, Cas.”

What a stupid fucking response. Who says that to someone as they’re carving their heart out of their chest and handing it over to you on a silver platter in a last-ditch effort to save your stupid fucking dumbass from your own stupid fucking dumbass plan?

Dean. That’s who.

He had to make it right. Even if nobody could hear it. He would. And that was all that mattered. So full-throated this time. Not a whisper, not a mumbled-under-your-breath copout. He had to say it. Out loud. Intentionally. And fully present.

Dean opened his eyes and breathed one more time.

“I love you, too, Cas.”

There. Done. Did he feel any better? Nope. Not really. Not at all, in fact. Castiel was still fuckin’ dead. Deader than a doornail. But he’d said it. And dammit all to hell, he’d meant it. That was all that mattered.

He shoved the key in his pocket with a defeated grunt. At least Billie was dead, too. Gotta pick out the positives where he found them. Right?

Sure.

He’d keep telling himself that until he passed out at the bottom of another bottle. If he could find one.

The walk back to his room passed in a blur. He swung the door closed, but never heard it latch. Not that it mattered. Nobody needed him, really. Sam and Jack were busy enough trying to find a solution to the real problem. He’d only slow them down. Dead weight. 

Or just dead.

If only. Eternal rest in Heaven sounded nice right about then. Reliving his favorite hits from his best cuts. No piece of shit monsters, no asshole demons, no shithead angels… 

That last thought brought him up short at the edge of his bed in a sudden rush of clarity. A Heaven of reruns actually sounded awful. He shuddered, gagging against that rancid taste rising in his throat again. A drink. One more ought to do the trick.

Dean tore open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew his flask. The cap spun with a practiced flick of his thumb and forefinger. Then he threw his head back and downed the entire thing.

Yup. Close enough.

The flask clattered on the nightstand as he dropped it and collapsed onto his bed. With his face buried in his pillow, he reached for his lamp, slapping haphazardly as he searched for the switch. If he ever found it, he couldn’t remember. But he must have. Oppressive darkness filled his room, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep like the dead.

Dead. 

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault.

It was the last coherent thought he had before he finally, blessedly, passed out.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

[jtthompson]

There's a place in media for tragedy. There's a place for stories where a character just fails and loses. But SPN did NOTHING to set that up!! Minor lil rewrites towards the end to build a foundation for Dean dying.

I'm so struck by the comparison.

Years of EVERYONE seeing AND SAYING OFTEN, that Cas' greatest weakness (and love) is Dean. They break up and make up, in purposefully coded ways. Cas becomes a father to Jack and loves him wholly. (Years after Dean threw human Cas out of the bunker-Cas built a haven for Jack's mom and then loved her son as his own!) Cas is completely willing to make a deal- to keep his family safe. And his end? A love confession. A moment of true, pure happiness- with their doom knocking on the door. He chose. He smiled in the face of his doom. He dies.

Dean, wanted OUT. Dean got a fucking dog. Dean was no longer the weapon, the sword that John and literal God, saw him as. Shaped him as. Tried to force him to BE. He lays roots. He cooks for his family. He's still willing to do what it takes to protect his loved ones, while having a home to return to. In a random barn, with a non-memorable baddie. He fights badly. He is pushed against a beam. He was pushed. And in his baby brothers arms, he dies. ???? What.

And in Heaven, instead of going to see ALL those he's lost? He goes for a solo drive? Until Sam dies too. (I know COVID. They're a literal TV show, imply it!)

There was a negative amount of set up for this being how he dies, how Dean Winchester's story ends.

And if they needed him to die, for whatever reason- they could've made it HURT. They could've spent the time they wasted with the 2 versions of Wayward Son. And. Let. Our. Boy. SUFFER. So when he goes to Heaven we accept that after such a traumatic death- yeah he needs some time to adjust and its DEAN, hell yeah he runs off to go for a drive.

Have it be somber. Yeah he made it to Heaven, but his 40+ years of blood, bullets, and trauma dont dissapear. Show that DEATH didn't cure all the bs he's been through. Give us some flashbacks to Hell, to demon Dean, to Michael-Dean, to those moments where he was least in control and most ruthless. Destroy us all and let Jensen ACT. He drives. He stumbles from Baby. He's /panicking/. And then, THEN he sees Sam.

Decades of codependency and bonding through the trauma. Throw in a handful of lines, making it clear that after everything and a sudden death,Dean is not okay. But white picket fence, blurry wife, long lived Sam IS. Sam found peace and Dean's memory lived on through his son. And now? It's Sam's turn to take care of Dean. To help DEAN adjust to happy, settled, safe, Peace-Heaven.

Dean could’ve gotten his happy ending with his found family all together and I’d be able to rewatch the show with a sense of “just wait, you’ll get there in the end” but instead he got tossed on a fucking rebar and died alone

[klove0511]

It's Rest I Want Chapter 5

Dean got to go look for salt or iron, while John babysat. It wasn't even that bad of a job. He didn't particularly want to be stuck in a bar with a murderous psychic, limited weapons, and no alcohol. He was just pissed that John didn't trust him, even though the lack of trust went both ways.

He found some old bags of rock salt miraculously untouched by the elements. Muttering to himself about the likelihood of finding something that useful in a place like this, he turned to go and jumped a foot back. “Damn it, Sam! What did I say?” He took a couple deep breaths and let his heart rate return to normal. “You find any other chatty ghosts?”

Sam nodded, though he looked distracted. “Where's Dad and the others?”

“I haven’t seen Bobby since we split up. Everyone else is in the tavern. Why?”

“There's a lot of dead people here, Dean. At least a dozen psychics. This has been going on for months.” Sam kept glancing around nervously.

“Dude, what's going on?” Dean waved at Sam, trying to bring his focus back.

Sam just dodged around him and poked his head out the door. “I think I found the most recent victims. Is one of the people named Ava?”

Before Dean could answer, a shotgun blast boomed in the distance. Dean took off running in the direction of the tavern, lugging the salt bag with him while Sam vanished. Inside was chaos. The Acheri demon from the outskirts of town had made another appearance, and it was currently tearing into Mark. After a moment, Dean saw John laying to the side, unconscious and bleeding with Leah crouched over him. 

Dean dropped the bag of salt, aimed his shotgun, and blasted the demon all in one smooth motion. The bag exploded and salt spilled everywhere, but at least the demon was gone for the moment. One threat dealt with, Dean quickly reassessed, clocking everyone else in the room. Ava was missing. So was Vaughn, but that was less of a concern at the moment. “Where is she?” he barked, looking at Leah and Tony. 

They didn't know. Which meant she had left. A quick assessment showed him the only exit was the door he’d just come through, which meant she was behind him. He spun, and there she was. She wore a maniacal grin and a bloody nose. They moved at the same time, but Dean was faster. He pulled his knife, catching her just under her ribs. There was a moment to realize that she'd been unarmed and wonder what she'd been planning to do to him before Dean spotted the older guy leaning against the door jamb. He was closer to John's age, with a smug, satisfied smile and yellow eyes. 

Dean's eyes widened. “You,” he breathed.

He froze for a sliver of a second, then threw himself toward John, looking for the Colt. It felt like he was moving in slow motion and the world took on an unreal clarity. His hand closed over the gun, and he saw Sam pop into view just behind the Yellow Eyed Demon. 

The demon laughed, making a ‘who, me?’ gesture. Then he waved a hand, and Dean flew across the room. Stars exploded across his vision, but he managed to keep his grip on the Colt.

His brother snarled and gripped the demon, his ghostly form able to touch the smoke and hang on. Surprised, the demon writhed, smoke wreathing its meatsuit as it struggled to get away. Sam held on, his eyes wild and desperate as he yelled, “Dean, shoot!” Their forms mixed and swirled, until it was impossible to tell for sure where Sam ended and the demon began.

Dean took aim, shouting, “Move, Sam!”

“I've got him! Shoot!”

Panicked, Dean spared a glance at his dad, hoping irrationally for guidance. John's still form gave him none, but Dean got a brief, horrible look at the extent of his injuries. The blood pooling under him dropped a pit of worry into Dean's stomach, but he'd have to deal with that later. Sam still struggled with the Yellow Eyed Demon, the cause of all the pain his family had dealt with over the last two decades.

The demon laughed. “You think you can hold me, Sam? Long enough for Dean to overcome a lifetime of guilt over wanting to put his dick in his little brother? He already feels guilty for letting you die. Eternity wouldn't be enough time for him to come to grips with killing you himself.”

Sam grunted with effort, tendrils of smoke escaping from his grip. “Dean!”

Time slowed to a crawl as Dean squeezed the trigger. Even as he did it, he wanted to take it back, to change his mind. He couldn't let Sam go. Not like this. They didn't even know what the Colt would do to a ghost. He didn't want to find out. His aim was true, and the bullet caught the demon in the heart. Sam vanished, and Dean hoped fervently that it was by choice. The demon pulsed with orange light, the crackle of lightning filling the room. He collapsed, a lifeless shell. 

Dean panted, desperately searching the room for Sam. There he was, crouching near John. Leah had ducked away, taking cover near Tony at some point during the fighting. Dean sighed in relief, then moved to join them and check on his dad. The pooling blood was sticky, already cold and coagulated. He grimaced, then felt for a pulse. John's skin was cold to the touch, but it was freezing out. Dean's hands weren't much better. There was nothing under his fingers though, no thump of life under the skin. Dean closed his eyes, not sure if he should call what he was feeling grief. It felt like grief, but more complicated. Like love, and loss, and regret. Regret he hadn't done it himself? Maybe. And maybe regret they hadn't gotten to a good enough place for forgiveness too.

He didn't say anything, just looked up at Sam and saw a similarly mixed expression on his brother's face. 

“Is it over?” a timid voice asked from behind him.

Dean turned, startled. He'd nearly forgotten anyone else was there. Leah and Tony were huddled together in the corner of the room, crying softly. “Yeah,” he said. “It's over. She's dead, the demon's dead, and we've got three cars parked about a mile up the road. You can go home and pretend this nightmare never even happened.”

“What about the bodies?” the girl asked. She sounded timid, but determined. Dean figured she'd be fine, eventually. 

“I'll take care of the bodies. There's...” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to freak them out more than they already were. “I'll take care of it.”

They nodded, though she looked like she wanted to protest. Maybe offer to help. Instead Tony piped up and asked, “What about Vaughn? He left with Ava before that thing showed up.”

“Come on,” he said. “I'll take you to the cars. We’ll look for Vaughn on the way.” He dug for John's keys, grimacing at the task. He'd have to empty the weapons cache into the Impala before he sent them on their way. 

As it happened, Bobby had found Vaughn first, which is why he hadn’t come running at the sound of fighting. The kid was hurt bad but surprisingly wasn’t dead. Dean wondered if any psychic abilities related to super-healing and then figured why not. 

It took a couple hours to get the two of them on the road to Sioux Falls. They had Dean's number, and he'd given them Bobby's number too, just as a precaution. Hopefully they'd never have to use them. The Impala was just about full to bursting with everything John had stashed in the truck bed. Weapons, a variety of spell ingredients, books and his duffel. Bobby offered to help him take care of John, Ava, and the others, but Dean waved him off and told Bobby to make sure Vaughn made it to a hospital. Dean needed to put John to rest himself. When he hiked back to the town, he carried a bag with an axe, lighter fuel, and all the salt they had. In his other hand was a shovel. He had an awful lot of ghosts to deal with, and he had no idea what Ava had done with all the bodies. 

“Dean, we have to talk.” Sam was trailing him, intentionally hanging a few steps back.

“Yeah? What exactly is there to talk about?” Dean was exhausted. He'd been up all night already, and he still had an absurd amount of work to do. Dawn was just starting to break, a hint of light on the eastern horizon. Already he was making a list in his head of tasks, trying to make sure there was nothing forgotten. He didn't want to leave this to chance.

“I think you know.”

Dean stopped. He sighed. “I don't want to talk about it.” He silently begged Sam to let it go. The last thing he wanted was to talk about what the demon had said.

Sam stepped up beside him. “Come on. We can talk while you work.”

Sam vanished and let Dean work in silence for a blessedly long time, though. Apparently, he'd been talking to the ghosts, getting locations of as many bodies as possible. They'd give this town as much rest as they could.

“Where do you want to start?” Sam asked.

Dean didn't answer, just kept chopping. It was lucky this place was surrounded by forest because the ground was far too hard for a mass grave. He’d be cutting down trees all day to get enough wood.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. I'll pick. Dad never told you everything he knew about the demon.”

“That's not news, Sam. So? You don’t want to talk about what the demon said?”

“Nothing to talk about.” Sam's voice was neutral, and his expression was too. Dean hadn't thought his brother's poker face was that good.

He scoffed, tried to elbow Sam in the ribs and winced when it went through him instead. “Come on. I know you want to.”

“What good is it going to do? I already knew how you felt. I'm dead either way, so it's not like—” Sam shut his mouth with an audible click. Dean wondered how that worked, considering his teeth were made of air now.

“You knew?” Dean straightened and faced Sam. Panicked thoughts were starting to crowd out all other thoughts. How had Sam known? Hadn’t Dean hidden it well enough?

Sam scuffed his shoes in the dirt. “I could tell, when I possessed you.” Sam's face crumpled. “Why?”

Ouch. Dean licked his lips, regretting it in the biting wind. “I don't know. I'd have given just about anything to not want this.”

His brother laughed wetly. “God, no. Why didn't you say something before now?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I get it. I— I wasn't ever going to tell you either. It's not exactly the sort of thing that ever feels safe to admit.”

Oh.

Dean thought he felt his heart break just a little bit more. They could have—only they couldn't have. Sam was right. Neither of them would have made the first move, not when the consequences of being wrong were so severe. He figured they could have lived their entire lives dancing around each other and never known for sure.

Sam wiped at his face, pushed his hair back. “You wanted to know why I didn’t hate Dad for what he did. It matters. Because he told me. Granted, he didn't know I could hear him, so I don't know if it counts as an apology. But you wanted to know how I could forgive him.” And then Sam told the story.

John sat next to Sam in the hospital. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever get used to seeing his own body laid out like that, and it didn't help that he barely looked like himself. His hair was short and uneven, just starting to grow in where they'd shaved it, covering the scars from when they'd removed part of his skull. It had relieved the pressure on his brain, but the damage had already been done. His dad was quiet, and he looked smaller than Sam had ever seen him. John Winchester had always been larger than life. He'd been confident, even arrogant, and that was one of the things that so often sparked fights between the two of them. Sam wanted them to be more careful, John was sure enough of his abilities that he didn't think he had to be. Seeing his dad hunched over, gently holding Sam's hand, was jarring.

“I'm so sorry, Sam.” His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “I never wanted this for you. I know what I said when you left, and I know I meant it at the time. But.” He breathed, tried again. “I wanted you to be safe. If you were going to leave the life, then I wanted you to be all the way out. I—” His breath shuddered, and Sam realized with a start that John was crying. “Too little, too late, huh? The doctor tells me you're gone. He said you can't really hear me, that there's—” He sniffed. “That you aren't there to hear, anymore. And I know Dean doesn't believe it. That he thinks there's a spell or hoodoo or something that can bring you back.”

John clenched his fingers around Sam's hand and took a minute, obviously struggling to get the next part out. Sam hadn't heard anything surprising, yet. The doctors had been telling Dean for weeks that this was it. This was as good as it was going to get for Sam. He'd been hoping someone would be able to talk some sense into his brother because being stuck in this hospital room was getting boring.

“He's not wrong. I'm sure there's something out there that could heal you. So I have to apologize, Sam, because I'm not going to let him do it. There's a lot of reasons. Most of them are even good ones. But there's only one that matters. See, when that son of a bitch possessed me, I got a front row seat to his mind too. I could see what he was planning. God, Sam. I had heard rumors that the demons were planning a war. I'd heard talk of that for years, but they're so rare that it never seemed like a credible threat. Last year, I thought I knew more. That the kids like you were chosen to be his soldiers.” John looked away. “So I thought I knew the plan. I was wrong. Azazel isn't planning a war, he's planning the war. He's doing all of this to start the Apocalypse, and the babies—the chosen kids—he's looking for a vessel for the Devil.”

John shook his head like he still couldn't believe it. Sam didn't understand. He'd been intended as a vessel for Satan? Why him?

“I don't know how he planned to make you agree, Sammy. He wasn't thinking about that yet. All I know is that he liked you best. More than all the others–and there are a lot of others–he wanted it to be you. And I know you're a good person. So the things he would have done— I don't know. He's not going to give up. If I let Dean bring you back, then that puts you back in his sights. I won't let them use you, Sam. I won't. You deserve rest. It's not enough. Not nearly enough. But it's the last thing I can offer you. All I've ever wanted is to keep you safe, and you are finally out of that bastard's reach.” His breath hitched. “I hope you can hear this, wherever you are. I don't expect either of you to understand, and I don't expect forgiveness. God knows I'm never going to forgive myself.”

Dean didn't look at Sam for a long time. “He said all that?”

Sam nodded, chuckling lightly. “It was the longest speech I'd ever heard him give.”

“You believe him?”

Sam heaved a sigh, considering this. “I don't see why he'd lie. He didn't know I was there, watching. I mean, you saw how surprised he looked last night when I showed up. So, yeah. I guess I believe him.” 

“And that's why you wouldn't let me make that deal.”

“Fuck you. Dean, I didn't let you make that deal because I don't want you to go to Hell, not because I'm worried about some nefarious plans a demon made for me when I was a baby.” There was something in Sam's tone that made Dean hope, even though he had no right. Hope was useless, anyway, since Sam was dead and planned to stay dead.

The pyre for Ava and the demon—Azazel, he guessed—was almost ready. “I don't forgive him.” Dean paused his work, sweat starting to drip into his eyes despite the cold air. “But. I guess I can understand why he did it. Sort of. That was pretty messed up shit.”

Sam laughed. “I can't argue with that. I think he felt like he didn't have a choice. You're just as stubborn as the two of us when you want to be.”

“Nah,” Dean said. “I was only like that because it was you. He was probably right, anyway. I wouldn't have backed down, even if he'd told me all that. I'm not saying I'm ok with it. It was a dick move. But I can see why you aren't as pissed at him as I was.”

“Do you?” There was that tone again. The one that made Dean's heart flutter. “It doesn't really have anything to do with Lucifer. I mean, I get it too, why he made the choice to let me go, why he chose to trick you and Bobby. I think it was the wrong way to do it; he should have trusted you enough to tell you the truth. None of that has to do with why I forgave him, though. Or it does, but it's not the biggest part.”

“Yeah?” 

“He did it to protect you as much as me. He knew you were bound and determined to destroy yourself to save me, and he would rather you hate him forever than let you do that.” Sam shrugged, sheepish. “I could never be mad at him for that.”

Dean heaved the bodies onto the pile of wood. “So you think he made the right call, taking you off the ventilator.”

“I didn't want to die. I don't particularly like being dead. But the doctors were right, and I could tell that I wasn't going to get better weeks before they said it to you. It was like there was this tether to my body before that, and then it was gone. I don't know how to explain it, because I was definitely still tied to my body's location until you burned it. After a certain point, it was just meat, though. It wasn't me anymore.” Sam's eyebrows wrinkled, making the little crease between them that Dean had always loved. 

“So,” he said, his voice rough. He coughed, clearing his throat. “What now?”

Sam looked down, then away. “You aren't going to like it.”

“Sam, I haven't liked much of anything for the last five months. Spit it out.”

His brother chewed his bottom lip, hesitating. Shit, Dean really wasn't going to like this. The sorrow was written in every line of Sam's body, and Dean knew what he was going to say before he ever opened his mouth. Sam's brow furrowed as he found his words. “I need you to let me go.”

“Sam?”

“I.” He sniffed, his mouth doing a complicated frown/smile thing like he couldn't decide what he was feeling. “After what happened with Dad? I’m only going to get worse, and I don’t want to hurt you. But I can't let go myself. So I'm asking you to do it for me.”

Dean's fingers brushed the amulet Sam had given him when they were kids, and he saw Sam shudder. His throat closed up as he realized what Sam meant. He looked at the finished pyres, considering. “Not here. Ok?”

Sam cocked his head in question.

“Let me finish up here. Get all these people taken care of. Then I'll go back to Bobby's, and we'll do it there.” He swallowed, met Sam's eyes and let all his love for his little brother show. “I just need a little more time, ok? Just a little.”

Sam nodded, and Dean got back to work. It took the rest of the day before everything was done. The ground was too hard to dig up most of the bodies, so he made markers for any that weren't in the town cemetery, with plans to come back in the spring with Bobby.

Dean didn't go to the woods this time. Didn’t trust himself to leave Bobby’s, so instead he  just went to the back of the lot and built a bonfire. Sam joined him, and they watched the fire burn for a bit while Dean held the amulet in his hand. He wasn't ready. He was never going to be ready. What he wanted didn't matter in this case, though, because Sam was asking him to do it anyway.

“You ready?” Dean asked.

“Are you going to be ok?” Sam said instead of answering the question.

He thought about lying, trying to make it easier on Sam. The thing was that his brother would know anyway, and he didn't want their last conversation to be like that. “No. I'm not.”

Sam studied him for a long minute before he said, “You want to be, though. That's why we came back here.”

Dean's jaw worked. “Yeah.”

“Are you going to keep hunting?”

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “There's still stuff out there, people to save. Doesn't feel right knowing what I know and not doing anything about it.”

“But?”

“But I'm no good to those people if I'm dead.” He looked at Sam then, open and honest. “You asked me to let you go, not to join you. And I hate you for that a little.” He dropped his gaze to the amulet in his hand. “The way I see it, if I'm going to make an honest effort to keep that promise, then I can't hunt. Not right now. Maybe Bobby needs a mechanic or something.”

Sam grinned, though he still looked sad and worried. “You'd be good at that.”

“Maybe someday I'll— Anyway. Not until I can do it with my head in the game, right?” Their eyes met, and Dean fought to keep his composure.

“Stay safe, Dean.”

Not trusting himself to say anything more, he gently tossed the necklace onto the fire. It started to melt within moments, and his last sight of Sam was of his brother smiling at him as he faded in a shower of sparks.